Requiem Arc
by A. X. Zanier
Summary: A series of shorts about one lifechanging event. Altiverse.
1. Last Breath

Author: A. X. Zanier

Series: _Requiem Arc_

Title: _Last Breath_

Rating: PG-13

Fandom: The Invisible Man

Pairing: Darien/OFC, Bobby/Claire

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or basic story ideas to _The Invisible Man_. Any additional characters or story ideas are mine to do with as I please.

Timeline: N/A

Comments: #1 in the _Requiem Arc_.

Music: _My Last Breath _by Evanessence

Last Breath

_"The difficulty is not so great to die for a friend, as to find a friend worth dying for."_

_Homer (800 BC - 700 BC)_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Things'd been getting weird for a while, but they just pushed it aside, ignored it. Said it was just overwork. Stress. The usual crap. I didn't buy it.

The kid suspected it was something else, but even she didn't make him go in to see the Keep, force him to admit to it. 

Fawkes had been having headaches for weeks now. Not that he told me, but I could tell. They'd been getting progressively worse, but since _he_ wasn't saying anything about them, she kept her trap shut too. It was another case of them against the Agency, along with a touch of, I suspect, not wanting to admit something was wrong.

Other problems began to manifest. The forgetfulness. The shaking hands. The exhaustion. The lack of appetite. It could all be chalked up to other things, and she covered for him. Helped him as much as she could. So'd I. By ignoring it. At least to their face.

It came to a head when they were sent on a simple snatch. All they had to do was walk in, grab the goods, and get out. Fawkes' headaches had been worse than usual, but he'd been doing okay, feeling better overall. If we had only known.

She was too loyal, as usual. Though it was for all the right reasons.

They came back with the stuff, but it was obvious _something_ had gone wrong. The kid was handling the Quicksilver for the both of them.

She didn't say a word. It took a lot of prodding from me to find out what the hell had gone wrong, and why Fawkes looked so pale and frightened.

All he said was "Get me to the Keep."

I did. And that's when the truth finally came out. Fawkes told Claire everything that had been happening, including that day's problems. We, Claire and I, didn't believe him, so he gave us a demonstration. He Quicksilvered - sort of. The stuff covered him, but instead of making him go see-through, it simply darkened slightly, turning the color of tarnished silver. Thank god, it wasn't like when he caught that flu, but I sure as hell didn't know was going on. And Claire... Claire was just confused, and ordered Fawkes to submit to a series of tests, which he did without a single word of protest. Guess that should have warned me.

The whole time the kid just sat there quietly, almost as if she'd known what was going on and was just waiting for us to learn for ourselves. Like we wouldn't have believed her if she'd told us what she suspected.

She's right, we wouldn't have.

By the time all the tests were complete, but with no real results yet, no explanations, no understanding, we were all exhausted, and I volunteered to get us some food. Claire didn't want Fawkes to leave until she knew exactly what the problem was and, hopefully, had a solution.

When I left, the kid and Fawkes were sitting on the exam chair, his arms draped about her as she leaned back against him, talking quietly. I now think I should have stayed, been there for all of them when the initial news came in, because I know _something_ happened, though I never found out exactly what. When I returned Fawkes had, to all appearances fallen asleep. He was lying curled on his side on the chair while the kid was perched on the edge, running her fingers slowly through his hair.

I could tell the news was bad, but, looking at the kid, it seemed to be no more than a confirmation instead of an actual surprise. Claire had to show me the results and explain it three times before I believed it myself. I can't tell you the technical details, but it boiled down to this: mutation. The Quicksilver and the gland, which was at least partially organic in nature, had mutated. The reason it wasn't making things invisible was because it wasn't refracting the light at the correct wavelength, focusing it inward instead of around him, which is why it changed color. The light went in, but never came back out. According to Fawkes, it was not a very pleasant experience, 'specially not out in direct sunlight. Heat would build-up inside the Quicksilver, cooking him like a potato wrapped in tinfoil.

But that wasn't the worst of it.

As the gland mutated, it had spread, tiny tendrils invading and imbedding themselves into other parts of Fawkes' brain and body, which is why he'd been throwing off all those hinky symptoms. You know, the ones we'd been ignoring. I got angry then, because I was positive the kid had known what was going on long before I did. I was working myself up to verbally ripping her a new one for such blatant stupidity, but Claire stopped me. Insisting that even if she had discovered the problem when it first began there was _nothing_ she could have done. Once the mutation had occurred there was nothing _anybody_ could do. It had even gone so far that Fawkes didn't even need the counteragent any more. He was free from the side effect, but it was killing him.

I asked if she could remove the gland, if that could help, and she shook her head. She was six to eight months away from a viable solution and - this shocked the hell out of me - the kid's research lab was a least three away from a solution. They'd had some success with rats, but not enough to make an attempt even vaguely worthwhile. 

I looked over at the two of them and I felt helpless. They'd managed to find some small amount of happiness in this weird situation that was their lives, only to have it ripped out from under them by a whim of nature.

Claire gathered up the various files and headed upstairs to report the problem to the Official. I wasn't sure what to do. Fawkes was my partner, my friend, but I didn't want to intrude on what might be their last moments together. I didn't even have the guts to ask Claire how long Fawkes had left, but I suspected it wasn't anywhere near enough time.

The kid didn't let me waffle for long. With a light laugh, she called me over. Fawkes was awake and hungry, or so he claimed, and while Claire was passing on the news to the boss, the three of us pretended to eat the food I had brought, and talked. It didn't take me long to realize the news was grim. So I asked. Fawkes fumbled for a couple and then told me the unvarnished truth, and it was worse than I had imagined. He had a week, tops.

The Official burst in then, trailed by Eberts and Claire, who was trying to calm him down, without success. Claire was explaining at a near-shout that even if she harvested the gland it wouldn't matter, it had mutated as well. Whatever was recovered would be useless, at least as far as Quicksilver and invisibility were concerned, but the fat bastard ignored her.

Fawkes pushed himself to his feet and looked at the man that, some days, he still blamed for what his life had become and said two words.

"We quit."

He didn't even look back to the kid, she simply stood and followed him out of the lab, while the Official blustered and shouted. When he made the comment that the gland belonged to the Agency, the kid paused and turned to face him.

"You can have it when he's done with it and not before."

Then they left, leaving the Official standing there stunned. It was almost as if he hadn't believed it was true until that moment.

***

The kid called me a couple of days later and invited me over, in fact, asked point blank why I hadn't been by to see Darien. In truth, I figured when they quit they'd quit all of us. Boy, was I wrong.

When I showed up at the kid's place, Claire was already there and it looked like she had been for a while. They had cleared a space on the living room floor and were building one of those 3-D puzzles, a huge honking castle that would stand about three feet high when complete. When I came in the kid gave me a quick kiss on the cheek that surprised me. She looked relaxed and... not happy, but at peace. Claire was the one who looked sad, as if she was trying to fight the urge to cry.

I asked her how it was going and she just shook her head. Turned out they were doing the puzzle on the floor because Fawkes couldn't stand for very long any more. He was having severe dizzy spells every time he was upright and could no longer walk without help. The mutated gland was basically eating away his control functions and generally screwing with his entire system. He wasn't in much pain, but I suspected that was the kid's doing. I'd had her do the trick to me a couple of times; she would simply numb the receptors sending the pain signals. I didn't really understand it, but it worked. The trouble was, it was only a short term effect and had to be redone as the pain returned. It wasn't hard to figure out why the kid stayed so close to him. She musta been almost continuously restoring the pain blocks just so he could function.

It hurt. Fawkes looked like himself, if you ignored the unhealthy dose of pale under the tan or the obvious loss of weight that there was no way to hide on his already too-skinny frame. He even sounded like himself for the most part; the effect had yet to destroy that smart mouth of his, but you could see it in his eyes that he was going and that he knew it.

This was why I had stayed away. I didn't want to watch him die, but, by staying away, I was removing what little comfort and compassion I could give him. This would have been easier if we had stayed only partners and had never become friends. Too late for that. And now... now that I was here, could see him doing everything in his power to face this with a courage few would have expected, I wanted to be with him for whatever time he had left. He needed me to be there, I realized. Needed Claire to be there, needed the kid to be there. So we stayed.

When we weren't at work, we were at the kid's place. In two days, he couldn't get out of bed any more. Two more and he couldn't sit up without support and couldn't even eat. It was a horrible thing to watch. Whatever else the stuff was doing to him, it stopped affecting his memory, those early lapses, those warnings we ignored, had faded, leaving him fully aware of everything that was happening to him. It never touched that intelligence of his, which was both a blessing and a curse, to my way of thinking. Right up to the end, he was still a smartass. Still could give as good as he got. Could still smile at some stupid-ass thing that had happened to me that day.

The two of them amazed me. You always hear about people handling situations like this with dignity and aplomb. This was the first time I'd ever seen it. The kid always had a smile for us or for Fawkes. Especially for Fawkes. She didn't baby him or treat him any differently and it took until that last day for me to figure out why.

***

Claire called me in the middle of the night and told me to get over to the kid's place. She'd been spending most of her time there, not wanting to leave the two of them alone even though it pissed the Official off to no end. She was concerned the kid might do something foolish if left alone when... when the end finally came.

When I arrived, Fawkes was sitting propped up on a pile of pillows on the kid's huge bed with her sitting next to him and holding his hand. He was pale, his brown eyes looking far brighter than they should. He knew the end was coming.

"Hey Bobby," he said to me. "Thanks for stopping by."

"No problem. Bobby Hobbes doesn't bail on his partner, no matter what," I replied, meaning every word.

Fawkes laughed.

Even with the kid sitting there, we talked as if we were alone. About old times, about things we'd done, things we'd planned to do. Things... we should have done. As we talked, his voice got softer and softer, but never faltered.

I always knew he was stronger than even he suspected.

"Bobby," he said suddenly. "I'm glad we met. You were the first true friend I ever had."

"Same here Faw... Darien. Same here." We did that low five thing we'd been doing forever, it seems, and then he turned to the kid.

"I'm tired. I'm gonna rest for a while, 'kay?"

"For as long as you want, Dare."

He shifted a bit, getting comfortable amongst the pillows and closed his eyes with a sigh.

Claire was suddenly standing behind me and laid a hand on my shoulder. When I turned to look at her, I knew what was coming. The kid had moved to lay with her head on Fawkes' chest, a look of calm acceptance on her face.

In minutes, it was over.

***

Claire and me just stayed frozen in place for an eternity, as if we were afraid to disturb the pitiful tableau in front of us. The kid had closed her eyes, as if it would allow her one more moment with him, to trick herself in to believing the warm, but empty shell she clung to still held the man she loved. Hell, had to admit it wasn't that bad a fantasy, and who was I to take it away from her, least not right then. She had more than earned the right to a few minutes of denial.

Something, I've no idea what, but I knew something more was going on here and it set the hairs on the back of my neck to standing. Claire musta sensed it as well, for her grip on my shoulder suddenly tightened. What came to mind wasn't anything I would ever had considered, least not where the kid was concerned, but looking at her now, reviewing how she'd been acting the last few days I realized it was more than just some crazy idea, but a serious possibility. Claire'd mentioned it being a risk, and having just lost my partner... hell, my brother, there was no way I'd lose the kid too.

"Kid," I managed, my voice cracking on the short monosyllable and already fearing I was too late.

I was outrageously relieved when a single tear trailed down her cheek and her eyes opened.

"Don't worry, Bobby. I don't break a promise."

***

You'd think my story would be over as well, but it's not. The next week was crazy. Under orders from the Official, Claire attempted to harvest the gland, only to find nothing of value left. It wasn't much more than a jellied mess that could never be used for cloning new glands even if there'd been any viable material left. The mutation had changed it so drastically that it had little or no resemblance to Kevin Fawkes' original design. What she never told the boss and only told me years later, was that the kid had destroyed the gland after Fawkes no longer needed it.

She didn't want to see anyone else go through what he had.

Neither did I.

The Official then had the audacity to try and talk her into coming back to work for the Agency. She told him no. 

He threatened to take away the protection he'd been providing for her kids.

She told him she didn't want it any longer. That she would protect them herself.

She stormed out, but not before destroying every piece of gland information, both hard and soft copy. She made sure there was _nothing_ left. Vindictive? Maybe, but given the fact the boss man already had plans in place to create new glands and implant them into _volunteers,_ it was justified in her eyes.

She stayed in town long enough to see Fawkes buried next to his brother and then vanished; leaving almost everything she had in San Diego behind. As if she no longer wanted to be a part of what she'd built there. As if she wanted to forget all of it. Erase it from her past as if it - we - had never existed.

Claire quit a week later. With the loss of all the gland information, there was no reason for her to stay. She hadn't any real interest in starting over from scratch, the Quicksilver Gland had always been Kevin's dream, not hers. Plus, she was more than smart enough to get a high-paying job anywhere she wanted.

Neither of them even called to say goodbye, and that hurt almost as bad as losing Fawkes.

The only reason I went back to work for the Agency was 'cause of Fawkes. Like the kid, I don't break promises, and the mook had insisted that I stay, claiming that one'a us had to stick around to keep up the good fight. 'Last bastion for light' or some such crap. I don't think he had any idea that the kid was gonna bail for parts unknown or that Claire was gonna up an' vanish.

'Sides, what else was I gonna do? The spy biz was all I knew and the Agency was the only place that'd put up with me and my quirks. To my way a'thinkin' I didn't have any real options, so I stayed.

Yeah, I gotta admit I considered taking the easy way out, both before and after Fawkes died, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. Like I was waiting for some sign from above - or below, I wasn't gonna be too picky at this point - to clue me in as to what I should do next.

So I worked, but it was without any enthusiasm. I did my job, collected my paycheck, and not much else. When you've worked with the best, maybe not agents, but friends, there was no place to go but down, after. And, in truth, it just wasn't any fun without the three of them around.

After about a month the boss decided that he wanted the kid back or, if not her, _her kids_, and he sent me to get them. I agreed to do it, but reluctantly. She'd left, right? Didn't want a damn thing to do with the Agency or me, right? Then why was it I found myself _wanting_ to go after her? Oh, not to bring her back - doubt I could do that without a small army equipped with more firepower than it'd taken to overrun the Falklands - but to just see her. To have her tell me herself that she wanted me outta her life, face to face instead of popping pills 'cause I'd spent another sleepless night wonderin' _why_. 

I guess I'd found that _sign_.

***

She had moved out of the house in Newport, the grass was in need of cutting, the hedges trimming, and the pool was full of leaves. The For Sale sign planted near the end of the long gated driveway looked as forlorn as I felt. For all that I was essentially there to drag her back kicking and screaming to San Diego, I had been looking forward to seeing her. I missed her that bad.

It took some time to track down where she'd run to, but we eventually found her in the White Mountains in New Hampshire, her entire family living in this huge house on a lake in the middle of nowhere. The nearest town of any size was 50 miles away. There was a small collection of houses and businesses at the opposite end of the lake from her, but it was so tiny it didn't even show up on a map. The place had the ironically perfect name of Lost Valley. The kid had inherited the place from her grandparents, years back, but had never mentioned it to any of us. Kinda made sense, since it gave her a place to disappear to, if she was ever in need of it. Fawkes' death and her break from the Agency was more than enough reason.

When we pulled up in front of her house, climbing out of the cars looking like a bunch of crows descending on juicy treat left on the roadside, we found her sitting calmly on the porch steps, waiting for us. Somehow, I knew she wasn't alone. I'd also been made aware that several of her kids had come into their initial abilities and had been trained by her brother, but until right then I'd never really thought about what that would mean. Falklands? This could very well be reenactment of the allies taking the beach at Normandy. Me and my team of eight were in way over our heads.

All the kid did was stand up and say, "Bobby, let's talk."

Those three words changed my life.

***

I've been living in this house the kid had built for me for a lotta years now. Claire has shared it with me for quite a few of them, happily at that. That day, me and the kid talked, and she made me an offer. She invited me to come stay with her and her family, which included Claire. Turns out the kid had made a similar offer to Claire that she would have been a fool not to take, and, with nothing to hold her at the Agency, she'd accepted. Not that either of us were living off the kid. She hired us. Claire to reconstruct the QSX research and me... me, to make sure her family stayed safe. By the time I had shown up, there had already been attempts by three other agencies to kidnap her and her kids, which is why she'd abandoned her home in Rhode Island. 

Just like with the Keep, it was an offer I couldn't... didn't want to refuse.

It's been a wonderful experience. We've all become family. An odd one, I'll be the first to admit, but family. I wish Fawkes could have been here for it. The kid does too, but she never really lets it show. She has her memories, which are so much more than mine. When she remembers him, she can see, hear, and feel everything. I don't think I could handle that. It would hurt too much.

The kid... Michele is a lot more than I ever thought she was. It's taken me a long time to see what Darien saw in her, and today I can honestly say I like her, who she is. She's one of the most amazing people I've ever met.

It's my turn to cook dinner for this madhouse, but there's one more thing I want to mention. From the day Fawkes died to this, some 15 years later, I have never seen her actively use any of her abilities and she says she never will. Says she gave them all to him when he went. I have no reason to doubt her.

We all still miss him.

~~~~~~~~~

i'll miss the winter

a world of fragile things

look for me in the white forest hiding in a hollow tree

(come find me)

i know you hear me

i can taste it in your tears

_Finis_


	2. Grieve

Author: A. X. Zanier

Series: _Requiem Arc_

Title: Grieve

Rating: PG-13

Fandom: The Invisible Man

Pairing: Darien/OFC, Bobby/Claire

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or basic story ideas to _The Invisible Man_. Any additional characters or story ideas are mine to do with as I please.

Timeline: N/A

Comments: #2 in the_ Requiem Arc_.

Music: _I Grieve _by Peter Gabriel

Grieve

_"Life is a series of experiences, each one of which makes us bigger, even though it is hard to realize this. For the world was built to develop character, and we must learn that the setbacks and griefs which we endure help us in our marching onward." -- Henry Ford (1863 - 1947)_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

'_What the bloody hell_?' The numbers on the printout I held made no sense, claiming that just about everything I normally test for, was off in some way. Some higher than normal, some so low as to be seriously dangerous to Darien's continued health and well-being. Oddly enough, there was none of the Quicksilver toxin in his system, which should have been impossible if the gland was functioning within even close to normal parameters. And since he had Quicksilvered, if strangely, one would hope the problem was a minor one. I had been counting on it being something that could be resolved by tweaking his counteragent, or adjusting the inhibitor, not this... this mess.

Shaking my head, certain that the tests just had to be an error, I heard the beep that told me the x-ray film was ready. Alyx still insisted, with that little smirk at the corners of her mouth, that she'd purchased the well-abused portable x-ray machine off eBay, but I didn't believe it. The Official, the cheap bastard that he could be, had denied my request, yet again, and Alyx had magically acquired this one. Damaged, parts salvaged to be used in other machines, but intact enough to be rebuilt. She'd done so; spending every free moment for a month to get it not only up and running, but working well above the industry standard. I didn't ask how she'd managed to get a hold of the programming or how many computers she'd torn apart to rebuild it, I was just thankful that I no longer had to make arrangements at Leavitt for a simple x-ray for either of my Kepts. CT and MRI scans I still had to outsource, but it was one less complication with two patients that were inherently complicated.

When I pulled out the x-ray and held it up to the light, I stared at it in confusion, a horrid sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I strode across the room, pulled out the oversized file that contained the results of Darien's recent annual exam and removed the x-ray that lay within for comparison. Not that there could be any; the gland had altered so dramatically in just eight weeks that there was little or no resemblance between the two. I was suddenly thankful I'd chosen not to do a biopsy at this time as I might have done far more harm than good. The fact of the matter is that I probably would have missed the gland completely as it appeared to have shrunk to about one quarter its original size.

I returned to the desk, relived that I'd chosen to run all the tests here in Lab 2 where no one but myself could see the initial results. I told the computer to compare the genetic markers of the Quicksilver from the exam two months ago with the samples I'd taken today. I was hoping to find nothing of value, but when the computer finished, all of five minutes later, I was already prepared for the worst. The conclusion I had come to all on my own made little sense, but was well within the realm of possibility, if not expected. The computer only confirmed it. The gland, the organic portion of it anyway, had mutated. According to the comparison, the differential was a little over point four, but it was more than enough to alter the entire system.

I reran the tests three times, initially irritated that neither Darien nor Alyx had come to me as soon as the first symptoms had manifested, but the anger burned off quickly as I realized it probably wouldn't have made a difference. As I looked more in depth into the test results, it appeared that this mutation of the gland was natural, though it may have been caused from external influences. Off the top of my head I could think of a half dozen hazards Darien had been exposed to, including the counteragent itself, that might have triggered this.

The x-ray along with their description of symptoms told the entire tale. The gland's sudden expansion, tendrils reaching out to imbed in other parts of his brain, causing memory loss, petit mal seizures, blackouts and, now, constant headaches, all added up to a system gone crazy. I reexamined the newest x-ray and it appeared that the gland had also expanded downward, using the spinal cord as a route to infest other portions of his anatomy, which would explain why his entire endocrine system had gone haywire. If, as it appeared, the gland had attached part of itself to his other glands and organs, they would be functioning no better than the parts of his mind that had been attacked by the invader.

Perhaps the worst thing of all was that I could offer him no hope, could not reverse what the gland had done to him, that even if I were able to remove the gland, it would change nothing. Even if I had picked up the first hints of this problem during his exam I'm not certain I could have done anything, the gland had changed so quickly that had I been able to create some sort of temporary solution to slow or forestall the growth, it would have simply prolonged the inevitable. It could take years before I identified the cause, never mind discovered a way to reverse it without killing him.

And I thought my track record of failing my patients had ended with Gloria.

***

Alyx slid down the side of my Cherokee, to sit on the hard concrete floor of the parking garage, outright refusing to move one step further even though Darien had been the one to _suggest_ we walk down the street to the Thai restaurant and pick up some dinner. He had wanted some time to talk to Bobby alone, and I could only hope that Darien could offer some comfort to his friend and partner, some inducement to go on after... the end. I... well I had been over here the majority of every day, though the Official had ordered that I remain uninvolved, they had quit and were therefore no longer under of the Agency's umbrella of protection.

I watched Darien deteriorate moment by moment, watched them face the worst possible situation that _anyone_ could in their lifetime with a courage and strength that was remarkable. The Official was a stubborn git, refusing to see that he was just as responsible for this situation as anyone was. I... I had taken an oath to harm no one and felt more than enough guilt that I had failed in so simple a task. They weren't just my patients, but my friends and I could not, in good conscience, allow them to go through this alone.

Alyx looked pale and was shaking quite badly as I knelt beside her to take her pulse. When she didn't wave me off, I knew she was not feeling nearly as well as she had portrayed upstairs. Her eyes were glassy and bright, and I'm pretty sure she wasn't really aware of me being beside her.

"Alyx?"

She swung into focus, but slowly. "Uh-huh."

"You're not eavesdropping are you?" I asked; trying to draw her out with what was surely a poor attempt at humor.

She gave me a ghost of a grin. "No... Well, technically yes, but it's not like I have any choice in the matter."

"Are you sure you don't want to get something to eat? You need to keep up your strength," I reminded her, trying not to sound like I was nagging. I was so very worried for her. She was so close to Darien, so dependent on him in some ways that I feared she might not last much beyond him.

"Can't," she responded. "Being this far away is a strain, I don't dare go any further."

"Ah." I realized then that she must have linked with Darien. A risk that, while I knew it would keep him alive a few more days in little pain, was also a horrid danger for her. "Are you sure this is for the best?" I questioned, not wanting to lose her as well.

"I have to," she whispered, her voice hoarse, and I made the decision to not question her about it again. This was her way of dealing with this dreadful situation.

I... I was already in mourning in many ways. I took full and complete blame for this. It was my responsibility to keep him alive and whole and I had failed terribly in that. I had promised him that I would find a solution. That I would figure out how to remove the gland and allow him to go his own way from the Agency, from us. But instead, I made a dreadful mistake, missing something so vital that it was going to result in his death.

I'd gone back over the original tests from his annual a dozen times and could still find nothing wrong, even retested the biopsy sample of the gland right down to the mitochondrial DNA level and found _nothing_. He was, based on the information I had gathered, exactly as I had told him - perfectly healthy. Yet, within weeks, the gland had changed so drastically that it was nearly unrecognizable, and I still had no clue as to why. Was it something to which he'd been exposed? Perhaps that intelligence retro-virus he'd injected himself with to save Bobby? That nasty designer flu Arnaud had given him? Maybe an unexpected side-effect of the counteragent, or the inhibitor Alyx had helped to create? Not that I would ever mention the latter to the woman in question, as it would destroy her to even think this might have been her fault, that she might have been the one to kill the man she loved.

I sighed heavily and sat down beside her, back against the cool metal of my vehicle, vainly trying to not go over everything again. I'd run tests, simulations, added variables of any and every sort, including those that I would have never considered before, but had not yet duplicated the mutation. I had screwed up somewhere along the way and even the information in Kevin's lab books, all the research I had done over the last few years helped not one whit.

I was the doctor, I was their Keeper, and I had failed so utterly and totally that I could only wonder why they allowed me anywhere near them.

"Claire," Alyx said softly, startling me out of another round of self-recrimination. "It was _not_ your fault."

"Then whose is it?" I grumbled, wanting to wallow in my unhappiness for a while longer rather than face the reality of my dying friend upstairs.

"Kevin's," she stated, and I shifted slightly to look at her with shock written in every line of my body. "Oh, come on, Claire, you know as well as I do this version of the gland was a prototype and not designed for long term implantation. Give it a test run, drive it 'round the block, kick the tires and then take it out for post-implantation study. I've read his frickin' notes."

It wasn't as if I could argue with her when every word was the truth. At most, the gland would have remained in Darien for a year, by which time Kevin would have certainly discovered a safe removal technique, thus releasing Darien from his obligation and making him a free man. It was heartbreaking to realize, but, much as Arnaud had once accused, I was no Kevin Fawkes, and I was still months away, at best, from a workable solution. Not that it mattered now. No, right now the Official was far more interested in designing and implanting the next generation of glands into _receptacles_. I, however, had no enthusiasm for that project and might never.

"Alyx, I know it changes nothing, but I am so sorry."

She shook her head. "Don't be. Don't be sorry you met him or became his friend, he's not."

"Alyx..."

She got to her feet, cutting off my words. "Stages of grief, my ass," she muttered. "Who has time for that?" She held out a hand and I took it, her grip firm and strong as she helped me to stand. "Time to head back up, Keepy."

I just followed along, not concerned over the lack of food we'd be returning with, but wondering why she mentioned the stages of grief.

***

I thought Bobby's funeral, fake as I later found out it was, had been difficult, what with my blossoming attraction to him suddenly being cut off at the knees, but Darien's... his was the most difficult thing I ever had to deal with in my life. Even more so than when I learned that his brother Kevin had died. I'd never even told Darien that I had known his brother, had dated him for a year back when we were in the graduate program at Cal-Tech. Never explained that my knowing Kevin had been part of the reason I'd taken the job at the Agency, feeling oddly compelled to, not only continue his work, but to help his brother who I only knew, at the time, as nothing more than a reprobate.

Oh, how wrong I had been.

I stayed near Bobby, who wore a façade of stoic calm, but was quite obviously a raw gaping wound. He'd lost his best friend in the entire world and nothing I said or did could heal the damage that had been inflicted upon his soul. I felt as if my insides were twisted into knots, still trying to come to terms with my failure, and certain that I never would. About the only thing I felt I could do was to oversee the QS-9400 Project - yes, the Official had already named it - and make sure that _nothing_ went wrong this time.

Alyx... I don't know how she did it, I could see she was bleeding on the inside, but she never once came to us for assistance. She'd made all the funeral arrangements, acquired the gravesite next to his brother, tracked down his old parish priest from Cold Springs to perform the decidedly non-religious ceremony, contacted Darien's only remaining relative, Celia Donovan, who saw where the nephews she had raised were buried - Kevin for the first time. Alyx had even written and read a touching eulogy that Darien would have more than approved of, and I suspected that he'd had a hand in it, probably finding it ironic to be writing something for his own funeral.

There had been no wake or viewing, as the funeral happened less than two days after his passing, literally hours after I had removed what little remained of the gland. There had been no reason to wait, and no way I would allow the Official to do anything other than retrieve his property. He hadn't even bothered himself with showing up, though Eberts had made an appearance, giving his sincere condolences, which Alyx had accepted with amazing grace, considering she would have had every reason to hate the man.

There were pitifully few of us in attendance, but who else was there to call? Darien's former _friends,_ if they could be considered that, were all thieves, rouges and their ilk. Was Alyx to invite parolees just to fill out the crowd? She had attempted to contact Dr. O'Claire, since Alyx had no animosity for the woman who had been Darien's lover prior to their meeting, but had received no response. At least those here were truly sincere about missing the man who would be lowered into the ground once we had walked away and attempted to get on with our lives.

Alyx had been understandably distant since Darien's death, trying in her own way to come to terms with the loss and deal with the incipient depression that had crashed upon not only her, but all of us who had cared for him. I wanted to talk to her, to attempt in some way to console her, but she, politely, rebuffed all my efforts, perhaps because she once again saw me as one of _them_ as I still worked for the Agency.

After the funeral was over, she spoke to Bobby for a few minutes; the pair huddled together between the brothers' headstones, heads bowed in mutual pain as they whispered to each other. She placed something in his hand, gave him a swift hug, and then walked away with her hands clasped tightly behind her back and Bobby watching her with a broken look upon his face. Our foursome appeared to have been shattered beyond repair and I had to wonder if Alyx had ever really cared about any of us.

Turned out she had given Bobby her key to Darien's apartment, leaving me with the distinct impression that she had slammed the door on this chapter in her life.

I didn't see or hear from her for several days and then only through Bobby, who came to me full of righteous anger after the Official had the gall to try and blackmail Alyx into returning to the Agency. Without success, I must add, and I couldn't much disagree with her decision. She had never really wanted to be here and Darien, in many ways, was the only reason she had stayed. Yes, there was a deal in place that involved her children, but she had never been overly fond of it, and, by this point, was more than capable of dealing with potential intrusions against her family on her own. One thing no one could deny was that she had been trained _very_ well even without the addition of her abilities. With them... well, I wasn't worried about anyone succeeding in an effort to coerce her into anything. She'd flatten them with a thought - literally.

The Official gave me only five days after the funeral to gather my wits about me before ordering that I begin work on the next generation of Quicksilver glands, which I prepared to do with great reluctance. Needless to say, I was rather shocked when I found the Keep computer stripped bare. No files, the hard drive reformatted and squeaky clean. I couldn't even run a diagnostic on the machine, as there wasn't so much as an operating system on it. Confused I went upstairs in an attempt to access the files via the main computer, from which Eberts typically made copies and updated all the systems in use. I found the same results - the Keep files were a complete blank.

I didn't yet panic, thinking that, perhaps, the Official had moved the information to a more secure location - possibly the Perseus Lab - where the data and the work could be better protected and monitored, and failed to mention it to me. The trouble was, I discovered Lab 2 stripped as well, all the recent tests that resulted in the discovery of the gland's mutation, the exam files, the hard copies, all of it gone.

With trepidation, I reported the situation to the Official. Eberts was quick to confirm that the computers were blank. The data not just erased, but removed so completely that there was no hope of recovering anything of value. The back-up disks were missing as well - including copies stored at a secure facility - and the files, the simple paper files, the lab books, Kevin's notes and audio tapes, the papers discovered at Peter Donovan's cabin were all _gone._

The Official, while justifiably angry, shrugged it off, like water off a duck's back and told me to get back to work. I laughed, admittedly with a touch of hysteria to it, and explained that there was no way I could hope to reconstruct the gland without years of work and testing, that I would, essentially, have to begin from scratch, rebuilding what I could from memory and doing the rest through trial and error. It could conceivably take me as many years to come up with a workable solution as it had Kevin the first time around, and this was not _my_ pet project, so I was in no way as intimately familiar with the gland's design as Kevin. That was his dream, not mine.

Alyx might have assisted, what with her memory being as good as it was or... I realized with shock that I had completely blanked on the fact she had a research lab of her own and that it _must_ have all the Quicksilver data. If I had access to it, I could reconstruct the gland, with the same current flaws, in no time at all. It seemed that the Official knew nothing of the lab or the work she'd been doing there. I hadn't known about it, either, until this issue with Darien had arisen and I found myself holding my tongue, deciding with no remorse not to a say a word. To, instead, allow the I-Man Project to fade away into the annals of history. Not forgotten per se, but awaiting a better time for its discoveries to be applied.

The Official digested this news with ill humor, tossing out imprecations and insults at the person he believed responsible for this setback - Alyx. No one argued with his choice of target, as she was the most likely to have done this. Bloody hell, she had more reason than anyone, except Darien himself, to want the QS-9300 project information destroyed, but at the same time, I had to wonder why she would bother. Would she do it just to piss off the Official, or did she, perhaps, have an actual motive that only she could comprehend? I feared I would never know since she'd not been seen since she'd stormed out of the Agency... was it only two days ago?

Bobby had mentioned that her place was barren of her personal belongings, the car sold, and the apartment for rent once again. To all appearances, she had left town and had no intention of ever returning. Did I blame her? No, but I had hoped she would at least say goodbye.

***

I parked my Cherokee near the rental car that Alyx was sitting on the hood of. This was one of those random ocean overlooks along the Pacific Coast Highway about an hour north of San Diego. I had been very surprised to receive her call, considering she'd been gone for nearly a week, and had been somewhat reluctant to meet her, especially when she was being so secretive and circumspect. Granted, she might just have been wishing to avoid contact with the Official, given he fully blamed her for the loss of the I-Man Project data, but there had been no concern in her voice. In fact, she'd been cool and composed, as if she didn't really care if I met her or not.

There was little chance I wouldn't.

I walked over to her, my gaze following hers out across the water, the sun glinting off the tops of the swells to flash in my eyes. There was a lone sailboat, heading towards the horizon, its sail taut in the freshening breeze. "I thought you had left for good," I said, turning about to look at her. She sat there cross-legged, elbows on knees, chin balanced on her fists.

"You were supposed to," was her reply. She didn't even look at me. "Are you going to stay at the Agency? Create the next generation of invisible men for Charlie?"

"I... I don't know yet," I admitted, not overly shocked by her bluntness. She had never been one to prevaricate. She reached into her pocket and held out what looked like business card. "What's this?" I asked as I took it from her. There were, what appeared to be, phone and account numbers on it.

"An offer." Alyx slid off the hood of the vehicle and moved towards the waist high whitewashed fencing that edged the drop-off. "Unless, of course, you plan on going back to being Lady Cavendish. Retire to your estate and play feudal lord with all the peons?" She turned slightly; head tipped downward, probably catching me in her peripheral vision only, then returned her gaze to the water.

My ability to speak fled for several seconds; I was so stunned. "How... how do you know that?"

She rotated about with a hint of a smile curving her lips upward. "You might be able to exclude it from files, wipe it from databases for security reasons, but _you_ can't forget. I've known for a long time, Claire, but I honored your choice to keep it private and I daresay you are fully aware of that fact."

I nodded slowly, automatically, as her statement sank in. I guess I had a few blind spots where Alyx and her abilities were concerned and I have to admit there had been occasions when I wondered if she knew, but it wasn't something I felt I could simply ask her. Since it was never mentioned, I never worried about it. Alyx could have used that information against me at any time - even if only with Darien and Bobby - and yet never had. My respect for her jumped upwards another notch.

"I have no plans to return to the family estate any time soon," I said, answering her earlier question. "I have a standing offer with the CDC, but..." I trailed off, watching her carefully. "What is your offer?" I asked, suddenly curious what challenge she believed she had to entice me.

She shrugged. "Come work for me. See how far we can push the envelope with the theories used in the QSX Project."

Challenge indeed. I had always been fascinated with her parents' theories and had often wished that I'd had more time to delve into them while working for the Agency. Then I remembered that she already had a staff to do exactly that. "But your lab..."

"Shut down," she interrupted. "Data either transferred or destroyed, depending on the project. Their main focus was on the Quicksilver gland and potential removal techniques." She spun about, heading back to her car. She leaned against the door and watched me with an oddly unemotional look in her eyes. "Anything of use _will _be shared. You won't get rich, but I don't think you'll need to."

My eyes must have lit up at the idea. The theories had so much potential for good and I could easily think of a dozen avenues I could pursue right off the top of my blonde head. I think that's what decided me, the fact that I knew something good could come out of the work, and I trusted Alyx when she said it wouldn't be hoarded or buried and never see the light of day.

She must have sensed my decision even as I became aware of it. "There are some conditions, and I can't explain the why of them."

"Such as?" She had me curious again.

"You can tell no one." She met my eyes squarely. "Not even Bobby."

"But..." I stopped when she shook her head.

"Just pack and leave. Use the account on the card; the money won't be traceable to you. If you even _think_ you need a false identity call the first number. The second is one of mine and is secure. Call when you arrive, not before."

"Alyx..." I swallowed hard. "Bobby... he's not doing so well. You should talk to him. Please," I pleaded, and for an instant, her façade of cool composure broke.

"I can't," she stated. "Not now."

I shook my head, not understanding how she could want to hurt him so badly or why she wanted me to do the same. "I don't like this."

"Claire, do you trust me?" she asked, plainly wanting the truth.

I'm afraid I had to think about that, her behavior since Darien's death had been anything but normal. We suspected her of destroying all the Quicksilver files, had suffered the loss when she walked out on us without so much as a farewell, but, ultimately, she'd done nothing to earn my personal distrust. "Yes."

"Then trust I have my reasons for going about things this way," she responded, then opened the car door and slid inside.

I hurriedly stepped forward and she rolled down the window. I had a question that had been bothering me for days now, but had been unable to ask the other party involved without causing yet another round of pain so I took advantage of her presence. "What did you say to Bobby? After the funeral?"

She sighed and started the vehicle. "I explained that keeping his promise to Darien did not mean he _had_ to stay at the Agency." She put the car into gear. "There are always options if one is willing to just look for them."

I stepped back as the car began rolling, the wheels crunching over the gravel in this turnabout and mulled her words. Options. I looked down at the card in my hand, already thinking about the need to get tranquillizers for Pavlov, as he hated flying. I began making my plans even as I tried to ignore the distress over not being able to tell Bobby. Ours is not to reason why, I suppose.

***

It was late January before the tight band about my heart began to ease and I was able to admit to myself that what had happened to Darien had _not _been my fault. I still grieved, but it was no longer with the fierceness of one who felt the need to take on all the blame. I had done everything within my ability to care for him, both mind and body. I still missed him dreadfully, and often found myself wanting to tell him some bit of trivia I had picked up or a sight I had seen. I could only imagine how much harder it would have been were I still living in San Diego where the events of our meeting and relationship had played out. I remembered Darien as fondly as I did his brother, but I missed him so much more. Kevin and I had been intellectual equals and lovers, perhaps loves as well. Darien and I had been friends and that had left a far greater impression and corresponding loss.

Did I still grieve? Of course, though I knew it would ease by tiny increments until it became just another memory - a fond one, admittedly, but just another part of my life. Bobby and Michele, however, were far slower to recover and, though they kept busy, they were oddly uninvolved. Bobby had spent the first few months planning out all the security upgrades, but by the time the holidays were upon us, he'd done all he could until spring arrived and the pass into the valley was open again. During the winter, the only way in or out of the valley was by air, a plane arriving on average of once a week with mail and supplies that had not already been hoarded by the residents.

Not that we lived in squalor by any means. The town and therefore the house had some of the most state of the art equipment that could be found anywhere. A legacy of the relationship built between the original settlers and Michele's grandparents. Michael had told me only the barest hints of his family's past in the area and only then when my curiosity led me to drive him up a wall. Near as I could tell, there was some great family secret buried in these granite mountains that they were not yet ready to divulge to the likes of me.

About the time Bobby began itching to do anything besides wait for the snow to melt, Michele handed him a disk that included, among other things, an extensive intelligence database that was up to date as of the week prior. She'd even planned for Bobby's eventual need to pick up his promise to Darien and set about making sure he'd have the tools he'd need to do so even when snowed in due to yet another blizzard.

Bobby and I had been growing closer now that the 'company pier' issue was out of the way, which Michele had made sure to point out - loudly and in front of witnesses - when he'd demurred from even taking a walk alone with me. It was astonishing how deeply he could blush when the conditions were right. Of course, he'd also gone after her, a mock battle of several minutes ensuing afterwards that ultimately ended in laughter. A sound wonderful to hear from either of them as it was still so rare.

I had my lab in the subbasement of the house - you would not believe how much of the building was underground, standing on the very bedrock of these mountains - where I began preliminary work on the QSX Project theories. Christopher, Michele's only son, had taken an interest in the work as well, and could often be found by my side more than willing to share his unique and refreshing point of view.

It often seemed during those first six months that of all of us only Michele had no purpose, nothing to do except, perhaps, dole out tidbits and amusements to keep the rest of us distracted. She took her duties as a mother and a matriarch very seriously and watched over her children with a fond smile, but it never touched her eyes. She was still mourning, it seemed, and had not yet found the strength to move forward.

I spoke with Bobby about it and he agreed that something needed to be done, but he was unsure as to what. Any overtures had resulted in her doing little more than saying she was just fine and ending the conversation by walking away. Though she would occasionally speak of Darien, especially to her children who were understandably curious about the man their mother had cared so deeply for, she - we - never talked about those last weeks. Never talked about his dying or how it had affected us. We were all here because of it, but.... But; the one word that had come to identify Michele more and more in recent weeks. She simply wasn't dealing, perhaps couldn't and, while she was still alive, still functional, she wasn't _living_. Even Bobby had managed that much; to find some sort of peace with the situation and remember everything Darien had given him with a lightness of heart instead of trapped in an endless cycle of _what ifs_ and _what could have beens_.

Not that I believed Michele was living some fantasy life in her mind where Darien was still alive and they were together and happy. No, she took her current reality and her commitment to protect this family far too seriously for that to be the case.

We found her sitting on a hammock strung between two trees, wrapped in a heavy blanket, our breath billowing about us in chilly air. Today, at least, it was safe to be outside for more than few minutes at a time; there had been days when going outdoors had been quite literally dangerous to life and limb. She was watching a small group of deer munch on the bales of hay she'd placed out for them, her way of protecting even the local wildlife of this valley through a harsh winter.

"Hey, kid, you trying to freeze your cajones off out here?" Bobby questioned with just the right hint of joviality to his tone, more than enough to make me smile, though Michele didn't react at all.

"Bobby, you really have to stop watching the Godfather. Next you'll be thinking it's not such a bad idea to turn my kids into New Hampshire mobsters." Michele pulled the blanket a bit tighter about herself, as if our presence had caused the temperature to drop by several degrees.

Bobby snorted and, ignoring her lack of welcome, set himself down in the hammock facing the opposite direction. A slight tip of his head was enough for me to get the hint that he wanted me sitting as well, so I took up position on her opposite side. "Kid..."

"Bobby, I'm fine."

"That's what _he_ kept saying, y'know. 'I'm fine'," Bobby said softly and I was surprised to feel her flinch next to me. Those words had caused more of a reaction than I had ever expected. "Well, he wasn't fine - the stubborn mook - but there wasn't anything I coulda done to fix it even if I hadn't been trusting enough to believe him."

"I know that, Bobby," she hissed, her breath fogging about us like a cloud. "I'm the fool who covered for him when he asked me to."

It was obvious to me that she had chosen to lay a fair portion, if not all, of the blame for Darien's death right at her own feet even though she knew better than any of us there had been no way to prevent it. Even if I had learned of the mutation within days of the first nebulous symptoms, the likelihood that I would have been able to reverse the effects before he succumbed, were fewer than the chances of removing the gland safely. And once that first tendril had imbedded itself in his central nervous system, even removal was no longer an option. She _knew _this and so I was baffled as to why she would continue to heap recriminations upon herself.

"Michele, would Darien believe you were 'fine'?" Her head snapped about to glare at me, but I held my ground.

"It's a good question, kid. I know I don't. The Keep, here, doesn't," Old nicknames die hard, but I didn't mind, "Your kids don't, and they damn well need a mom who _is_ fine." Bobby's words stung her, I could see it in her eyes even as she proceeded to grind her teeth, her jaw muscles flexing visibly. She wanted to do something, say something, hit something, but instead she just turned away and slumped, choosing her far more well-worn path these days - ignoring us.

I wasn't sure what to do, thinking that maybe she needed more time before she was ready to listen to us. Bobby surprised me by swiftly turning about, which sent the entire contraption to swinging in two directions at once, and pulled her into a bear hug. "I know you miss him, kid. Crap, we all do, but you're scaring us. You got everything worked out for the next decade or so and it's making some'a us wonder if you're planning on sticking around for any of the fun."

"What is this, some cheesy intervention? 'Cause I'm telling ya, I don't want no part of it," she grumbled, her voice muffled against the heavy coat Bobby wore.

"Maybe it is," Bobby responded. "Maybe we're tired of watching you wallow in your pit o' self-pity and think it's time you drag your sorry ass out a'it before it becomes a permanent condition."

I had to resist the urge to laugh at his colorful, yet accurate, description of her current state of mind. "He's right, Michele," I said, setting a mitten-covered hand on her back.

She turned her head to the side, but didn't try to break Bobby's hold on her. Not that he was restraining her, his arms gently wrapped about her, his chin resting atop her head in an eerie imitation of what Darien used to do. Perhaps he thought the position would offer her some subconscious comfort and I couldn't see any harm in trying.

"I'm afraid," she admitted finally, her voice hoarse. "Afraid I'll forget what he meant to me, what he did for me. Afraid it'll hurt too damn much to _feel_ again."

"Shit, kid, we ain't worried about you forgetting. You're worse than an elephant." Bobby closed his eyes for a long minute, carefully planning what he was going to say next. "Fawkes is probably looking down on this little confab wondering how he screwed up so badly that you, little miss light and sunshine, ended up with a permanent thundercloud over your head." This time she did sit up, her back stiff and I was concerned he might have gone too far. "And since he can't come down here and kick your scrawny ass, I'm gonna do it for him. Do you really think this is what he meant for you to do when he had you make that promise?" He tapped her on the temple. "There are always options, remember?"

This time Bobby's words had an even greater effect, but I wasn't certain it was the one he'd been hoping for, as Michele began to cry. Silently, but tears were flowing down her cheeks, and it suddenly dawned on me that this might very well be the first time she'd allowed the painful emotions an outlet. Sitting so near to her, I was caught up in the wash of her broadcasting and could only be thankful her abilities had been greatly reduced or the entire valley might be crying with her.

"Keep," Bobby whispered his voice tight, nodding to me, "she got you, too."

I raised a hand to my face only to have it come away damp with tears I hadn't even realized I was shedding. "Bobby," I tried, my throat closing about the words. It didn't matter that I couldn't finish the sentence, we knew what was needed, and we wrapped our arms about our friend to mourn our loss together for the first time.

Later, much later, warming our chilled bodies with mugs of soup before a roaring fire, with Michael accusing us of forgetting we have usable brains for staying out in the cold for so long, we talked with an ease that hadn't been there since before we'd gone our separate ways after the funeral. For the first time in months, I could feel Michele in the back of my mind, a warm subtle presence that was strangely comforting. I hadn't even realized she'd been blocking us until that wall she'd erected in her mind had crumbled. Bobby felt it too, you could see it written on his face; a sense of relief at knowing she was back in the land of the living; for he'd missed his friend more than he'd be willing to admit. She might never do anything superhuman with her abilities ever again, but that connection, through which even I could almost feel everyone in the household, was more than enough.

She was still sad, dreadfully so, but she was no longer locked away from the world about her. We'd get through this together, working things out like the team - like the good, close friends we had become a world away in San Diego. I had every confidence that all of us would do great things in the future, but for now... Now we would do as we must, safe behind icy mountain walls where we could grieve.

~~~~~~~~

i grieve for you

and you leave me

let it out and move on

missing what's gone

they say life carries on

they say life carries on and on and on

finis


	3. Twilight

Author: A. X. Zanier

Series: _Requiem Arc_

Title: Twilight

Rating: PG-13

Fandom: The Invisible Man

Pairing: Darien/OFC, Bobby/Claire

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or basic story ideas to _The Invisible Man_. Any additional characters or story ideas are mine to do with as I please.

Timeline: N/A

Comments: #3 in the _Requiem Arc_.

Music: _Twilight_ by Vanessa Carlton 

Twilight

_"What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime. It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset." -- Crowfoot's last words (1890) (Blackfoot warrior and orator)_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He said he wanted to watch the sunset. It was a little after 10 am, we had just walked out on our jobs, our friends, hell, our lives as we knew them and he wanted to watch the sunset. But considering he - we - just had our worst fears confirmed, I wasn't going to argue with him. I simply asked if he had a preference where and then drove him there.

We unavoidably stood out among all the others gathered to enjoy the perennial warmth of southern California, though not due to our attire, which was about middle of the road for beach wear on this particular day. No, it was far more the air of...hopelessness we were surely broadcasting to all who came near. Admittedly, it was far more me than he, but I didn't want put in the extra effort to lock down the emotional spray I was tossing off like horse-head waves created by a high wind.

I found myself unable to say a word as he shuffled through the sand, heading for the rocky outcropping at the far end of the beach, could only manage to glance over at him now and then. His head tipped down, shoulders slumped, hands stuffed into his pants pockets - one fore and the other aft.

When he finally settled down on the damp rock, the crashing waves of the ebbing tide darkening the ancient stone, he ran a hand through his hair, mussing it into wild disarray and lifted his head to look out over the deep blue waters of the Pacific.

"I'm sorry," he said, and it took me a long moment to figure out he was talking to me. _Apologizing to me_.

I stood several feet behind him, not sure he wanted me near, yet unwilling to just walk away and leave him alone with his thoughts. "Darien, I..." He shook his head, silencing my words. In truth, I had no idea what I was going to say and was, in many ways, thankful he'd interrupted, as I was uncertain at that moment whether or not I would be able to keep up the façade of calm composure I wore. Between his emotional distress and my own I was damn near to being a blubbering mess.

He turned his head slightly, holding out his hand, and without thinking about the possible ramifications, I took it into mine. This inevitably magnified his emotional state to my senses and I whimpered aloud, unable to curb that one instance of visceral reaction. He pulled me close, even though I tried to get away, fearing how my reactions would hurt him. He didn't say a word, just wrapped his arms about me and buried his face into my hair; somehow knowing that no matter how scared I was, how much I hurt, how I feared what was happening to him - to us - that I would somehow endure. And what frightened me the most was that I didn't want to, didn't want to bear this burden, didn't want to lose him.

We sat there for hours, not speaking a single word, and he saw his sunset.

***

I conned Bobby into taking Claire home, mainly to get them away from me. Their emotions, so raw and painful, were giving me a headache at a time when I couldn't afford one. Most of my concentration was taken up with keeping Darien as free of pain as possible. Today had been a good one, all things considered, and he was radiating such joy for having renewed his connection with Bobby. Darien had been so worried that he'd torn the friendship to shreds when we'd walked out on the Agency - was it only two days ago? He was doubly afraid to call Bobby and find out, so I had intervened, gave Bobby a fair tongue-lashing for leaving his friend to wither on the vine. Guilt was such a wonderful tool when wielded by an expert. Besides, I missed the mook as well, and since Claire was over here 12 out of 24 hours, heedless of the Official's orders, I figured we might as well have the whole gang together while we still could.

I watched as Darien stood, hands splayed out to his sides as if unsure of the stability of the world beneath his feet. His equilibrium was shot to hell, and just walking across the room had become a challenge far greater than that of any building he'd scaled with little more than fancy suction cups back in his days as a professional thief. I resisted the temptation to rush to his side and support him, knowing that was not what he wanted. Damn, it was so hard to watch him struggle to do the simplest of tasks, but I knew he'd hate me all the more if I showed even the tiniest trace of pity for him.

In one of his weaker moments, he'd admitted that he wasn't all that surprised, had always entertained a niggling worry in the back of his mind that the gland would be what did him in. That it was sooner rather than later was even less of a shock. For him, but not for me. There'd been no warning, not even a worst case scenario simulation that had predicted this, which had sent Claire scrambling to figure out what she'd missed and whether or not it was somehow contagious, fearing that it could affect me and my ability to Quicksilver.

I guess I was lucky in that the mutation was exclusive to the gland, and, though curious as to the cause - Darien had been exposed to any number of potentially harmful things over the years, including a nasty flu virus and an intelligence retrovirus, which were the most likely suspects at this point - Claire was too concerned with his current well-being to indulge herself in speculation. All that we knew for sure was that it could not be fixed, that the damage done was irreversible and that we could not stop it from killing him.

I mechanically picked up the minimal detritus the evening had created, dimming the lights as I vacated one section of the apartment for another. One part of my mind was continually aware of where he was and what he was doing. I'd opened a strong link to him so that I could properly maintain the pain blocks I'd put in place. Claire had offered the far more typical pharmaceutical pain killers, but Darien wanted no part of them, wanted his mind clear, didn't want to spend his last days in some drugged out haze, didn't want to be remembered that way. Claire hadn't voiced a single objection, seeing as I was more than willing to stay by his side and do everything in my power to give him one moment more.

His voice drew me up out of the autopilot I'd been running in for the last little while and, after grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, I walked over to the bed. He was sitting there, legs crossed under the blanket, the t-shirt that used to be snug now hanging loose on him. I leaned against the bedpost, just watching him as he thumbed through one of the journals I'd given him. They were filled with notes, tidbits, drawings that I'd written to him, words that I often couldn't manage to say when we were together that found an outlet through the medium of pen to paper. To think that I wouldn't have a reason to fill another journal gave my decision another validation.

"We need to talk," he said suddenly, not looking up from the book lying open on his lap.

"Sure." I slid across the bed to lay down with my head near one of his knees, and he released the book to curl his hand under my chin, his fingers cool and shaking slightly. I could feel how tired he was as well as the determination to have this discussion. I closed my eyes and leaned into his hand, wanting to imprint this moment on my mind. I could feel that whatever it was he wanted to discuss was serious so I swallowed down the urge to make some wisecrack and waited on his pleasure.

He tapped the page and I opened my eyes to look up at him. "You mean what you write in these?"

"Every word," I assured him, wondering where he was going with this.

He nodded slowly, as if afraid if he moved too fast, his head would topple from his shoulders and land atop the book. "Risk your life for perfect strangers? Get yourself hurt so bad that you need to spend weeks recovering? Walk around in a drugged haze 'cause you overdid it so much your head feels like it's ripping itself to shreds from the inside out?"

"Been there, done that. Lotsa times. Same as you." I rolled onto my back to more easily look into his eyes, but he hid them from me, his hair drooping low and blocking my view. I stretched out an arm and set the water bottle on one of the shelves built into the headboard.

"Take a bullet for Bobby?" he asked, his voice hushed.

"Of course," I responded, sounding, perhaps, indignant. He knew me better than this, didn't he?

"Die for me?" It was little more than a whisper.

What a question. I would trade places with him in a heartbeat if I could. Of the two of us, he was the one who still had hope; he still saw the potential in each new day, still loved life. I... well let's just say my reasons for getting out of bed on an average morning were fewer than the toes on one foot. And the largest of them was soon to be cut off. "Darien..."

"Is that a no?" Though obviously rhetorical, I couldn't prevent the answer that leapt from me.

"No, it's not a no, you jerk. You _know_ there's nothing I wouldn't do for you."

He lifted his head, his face set in a mule-like stubbornness that caught me off guard. "Then I want you to promise me something."

I was suspicious, but refused to pry into his mind to figure out what card he had hidden up his sleeve this time. I shrugged. "What is it?"

He shook his head. "Promise first."

It was my turn to get all stubborn and I sat up, facing him. I was not about to let survivors guilt let him win and, besides, he'd probably get all pissed if I just let him have his way without, at least, a token fight. "Uh-uh, not a big fan of blind dates here."

The corners of his lips quirked upwards, but instead of the bold countermove that I was expecting he swept his arm across the playing field, knocking all the pieces away. "I know what you're planning."

I found myself staring into his eyes, realizing with a certainty that frightened me that he _did_ know, that, though I'd made certain to keep that knowledge close to my heart, he'd figured it out. "Darien..."

"Don't... just don't," he said, stilling my defiance before I got more than his name out.

"How?" I requested, knowing he'd understand what I was really asking.

He reached out and tweaked my nose, drawing an unwilling smile from me. "You tipped your hand, babe. Said you could keep me going by letting me leech offa your powers. Keeping my battery charged a few more days." He flashed me a grin that I couldn't return.

"You saying you don't want me to..."

"No," he stated emphatically. "I'm still greedy and I want every second I can beg, borrow or steal." He sighed and shut the journal, setting it aside. "But I won't do it if it means killing you."

Ah, hell. Too bad he wasn't as stupid as a lot of people wanted to believe. It would have made this so much easier. 'Cause he was right, when I opened the full link in a few hours he would be the beneficiary of an overflow of my natural ability to absorb energy, along with the nifty side-effect of increased healing. I couldn't cure him, couldn't reverse what had already been done, but I could slow it a bit. Give him another day, maybe two before his body would simply shut down, the damage too great to be countered. When the end came, I planned to let myself be drawn down that long dark tunnel with him.

"Darien, I don't want to live without you." There I'd said it. Let him make of it what he would.

"So, you'd die for me without a thought, but you're afraid to live for me," he observed. "What the hell does that say about me? About how I've influenced your life?"

"It says you gave me a god damn reason to live when I didn't have one," I snapped, suddenly angry that he could even entertain the possibility that what he brought into my life could be anything but glorious.

Then he threw me another curve ball. "What about your kids? Ain't they reason enough?"

Shit, that was a low blow, but I was quick to respond. "To them I'm already dead. They'd just finally have a body to bury."

Darien's eyes narrowed and I actually winced at my cheap shot. "What about Bobby and Claire?"

"What about them?" I practically wailed. "They're adults and will do what's right for them. I," I poked myself in the chest, reveling in the pain it caused for an instant, "don't exist. What I do with my life affects _nothing_," I hissed the last to cover the fact that I _knew_ what a lie it was.

Claire was near to being overcome with guilt for failing Darien. That was what the cold, calculating _Keeper_ was feeling. Guilt. Thinking that by some misdeed or mistake that _she_ had caused Darien to be struck down in his prime.

Bobby... Bobby was lost. For the first time in his life, he'd found someone who accepted him for who he was, foibles and all, who had proved time and time again that his trust and loyalty was not misplaced, only to lose him. I had come to my decision, accepted it, and dealt with the day to day realities with an eerie calm. Bobby had yet to make one, but it was obvious he would not have an easy of time of it.

This was why I kept shoving them away, insisting that they leave Darien and I in peace for at least a few hours. I had enough burdens to bear without adding theirs to my shoulders.

"Alyx, please, I... The only way I can face this is if I know you'll still be here." He leaned forward, curving one hand about the back of my neck and pulling me near enough to rest his forehead against mine. "Just... live for me."

I shuddered, torn by conflicting emotions. How could I promise that? Hell, why would he want me to promise that? The world would be so much grayer without him to brighten my days.

He pulled away, his fist closing about my hair. "Is my life worth so little to you that you want to throw it away?" His words were like a slap in the face.

"No," I responded hoarsely and damn near tears for the first time since Claire had told us. "How could you even _think_ that?"

"Crap," he muttered, his voice breaking as well. "Who's gonna write my memoirs, huh? Bobby? The 'Fish? C'mon, is what I'm asking _that_ difficult?"

"More than you know," I replied. But he had made his point. If I followed him, if I allowed myself to die as he did, everything he'd done would be lost. The Official would lock the files away to never see the light of day. As forgotten as the Catevari Project had been. Just another casualty to the thrice be damned greater good. Bobby and Claire's memories would fade; becoming sepia toned due to distance, locked within their minds out of a sense of duty, and to never be shared. But me... I'd never forget, and this moment, right here and now, would be as clear as those from the first day we met. My voice shaking, I told him the truth. "I _can't_ make that promise."

I was amazed when he didn't get angry as I expected and just simply asked, "Why not?"

"The link, the connection I'm gonna make is... like hard wiring computers together. I don't know that I'll be able to sever it when..." I trailed off, not wanting to give him another reminder of his all too short future.

"Then promise to try."

That I could do.

***

'_I can do this,_' I told myself for the thousandth time and still not believing the words. Ye gods I _hurt_. I _ached_. I felt raw inside, as if someone had vigorously run a wire bristle brush across every inch of my flesh internally. Between facing down the Official, destroying all the files, including the ones the fat bastard had thought he'd hidden so well, arranging and attending the funeral without giving up the game to either Claire or Bobby and the swiftly increasing contact withdrawal, I was lucky to be even vaguely coherent. And yet, here I was, standing outside a house I'd never seen before, about to freak out my children.

Once I'd swum up out of the pit of depression I'd fallen into shortly after Darien's body had been removed, I had begun to plan. I had to distract myself somehow, had to figure out where I was going to go from here and knew that there was no way I could stay. When I'd made the choice to remain in San Diego after the Cabo San Lucas mess, it was because of Darien, and with him gone... Yeah, there was Bobby and Claire to think of, and while I knew my leaving would hurt them to no end, there was - as they would learn in time - a method to my madness.

Did part of me want to stay and wallow in shared misery, toss back a few and drown our mutual sorrows in an alcoholic daze? Hell yes. Especially for Bobby, who was, just as I feared, for all intents and purposes the walking wounded. I think the only thing that kept him going was the promise Darien had dragged from his partner's unwilling lips. Darien was no fool and had been well aware that Bobby's state of mind was little better than my own. Darien had given a washed up end of the road agent a new purpose and, much to the jaded agent's surprise, a real friend, and he hadn't wanted to be that final straw that broke Bobby.

Darien had asked me to be there for Bobby, and I intended to. I just had to do it my way.

And this was the first step to that plan.

***

When Claire arrived I have to admit I was overjoyed, it felt like a missing piece of my heart had been slipped neatly back into place, and I hugged her with tears in my eyes. Pavlov looked bewildered at his new surroundings and huddled at our feet as the kids and Mikey made their appearance to greet our guest. Hard to believe it had been less than three weeks since an irreparable hole had been punched in our world.

It didn't take her more than a day to figure out I was not doing as well as I tried to portray for the children I now barely knew. It was scary to realize that, in some ways, Claire knew me better than my family. Of course, she had the context from which to judge my condition whereas only Mikey knew the real reason why I had come home. I wanted to make sure things were settled and as secure as possible before I detailed everything to the kids.

She found me sitting on a lonely outcropping of rock that stuck out over the deep gray Atlantic, the fall not nearly high enough to even bother contemplating using for some nefarious and life ending purpose. I could feel her standing behind me, but I didn't react, waited for her to make the next move. Being together hurt in some ways, we'd shared so much, fought so much, and lost so much that no one else could really understand and yet... yet it helped. Pain shared is pain halved, right?

"Alyx...."

"Michele," I corrected. "Alyx Silver doesn't exist any longer." Far as I was concerned, _Alyx_ had died with Darien Fawkes.

Claire settled down beside me. "Michele then. How... how are you doing?"

"Still wanna play doctor, Keep?" I asked, making sure she could hear the humor in my voice, feigned though it was.

She shook her head. "No. Was hoping there was an opening for a friend, though."

I turned my head and gave her a wan smile. "That position was filled a long time ago, Claire."

She gave a delicate snort, catching onto my meaning with ease. "My first question still stands."

I knew that, but wasn't sure how to answer. I shrugged. "I miss him. Feel as if a huge irretrievable part of me is gone. I get by day to day, just like the rest of the world."

We sat in silence for several minutes with her casting curiously odd looks in my direction every now and then. "Michael mentioned something to me and..."

I sighed heavily, not surprised my twin had caved already. I knew how worried he was about me. "If it was about my abilities then, yes, it's true. They're pretty much gone, knocked back to pre-Phase II levels. Only I'm fully aware of them."

Claire looked even more shocked than I expected. "The Quicksilver?"

"Dunno," I answered. "I haven't tried to use it. Don't see any need for it, do you?" I looked her right in the eyes, mine still the silver caused by my system being flooded with the Quicksilver, hers blue-gray to match the waters below us. 

"But how...?" She stopped, looking at me in confusion. "The gland was destroyed, and the research... We all assumed it was you."

I nodded. "My doing," I admitted. "The gland... that was pretty much the last of it. I just barely pulled myself free at the end, couldn't break the connection completely and, I guess, part of me went with him." She was eyeing me in disbelief. "Run tests if you want, my power levels are a fraction of what you're used to. Still more than I ever wanted or needed."

"But the research?" she repeated, not about to let it go until she understood.

I couldn't help myself and smiled broadly. "C'mon, I learned from the best, after all, and I was a talented computer geek long before the Agency _recruited_ me."

That seemed to satisfy her and she returned the smile with a fondness that all but screamed that she was thinking about Darien. But it wasn't our dearly departed she mentioned with her next breath. "Bobby?"

I lifted my face to the sky, the scent of seawater heavy on the afternoon breeze. "Soon," I assured her. "Very soon."

***

'_Damn it to hell and back again_,' I snarled silently as I toed the body of the man I had just killed, to be certain the bullet had done its job as advertised. I hadn't been quick about it either and he'd spilled his guts - figuratively, as I'd shot him in the knee first - when I questioned him about who he worked for. '_Teach you to taser one'a my kids_.' Only after I had the information did I place a shot between his eyes. I glanced over at Claire who was checking out Dani, the Desert Eagle still in the Doctor's hand and at the ready in case any more of these idiots made an appearance.

Chris burst out from the trees and sprinted across the lawn. "There were two more, but they got away in a boat," he managed around pants. "I think I hit it... I _hope_ I hit it," he growled, just as angry as I was.

"Chris," I admonished, not caring much for the bloodthirstiness I could hear in his voice and he did his best to look properly sheepish. "Claire?"

"She'll be fine," Claire assured me. "You think they knew Mike and Rose would be gone?"

I shook my head. "Nah, they were too stupid." I turned to my son. "Find Amanda and do a perimeter check." He gave me a curt nod and rushed off. Shit. Here I was treating my kids like they were nothing more than part of some military unit, but the situation necessitated it.

"Mom," Dani called out, trying to push herself to her feet. "I can..."

"No, they can handle it." I focused on Claire. "What's left to move?"

"Our personal stuff. They took the last of the main computer system with them yesterday." Claire frowned, as if it was she who could read minds now. "We can't wait any longer, can we?"

I sighed, wishing things had gone as I had envisioned. '_No battle plan ever survives contact with the enemy_,' rattled through my mind, sounding exactly like something _he_ might have said in this situation. "We don't dare." I walked away from the body, more than willing it to leave it where it lay for the carrion birds to deal with. I just wished I could feel something other than a dull sense of anger at having my plans screwed up. Wished I could feel _anything _beyond a desperate sort of sadness. "We'll leave tonight."

"But Bobby..." Claire cut herself off, realizing that we had no choice. This had been the third incursion in the same number of weeks. We didn't dare wait any longer.

"I know," I whispered, my shoulders drooping, my head tipping down to stare and the grass at my feet, trying to ignore the crimson flecks that lay scattered across the verdant green. "He'll find us. He has to."

***

"'Bout frickin' time," I muttered under my breath as the obviously borrowed Humvees came around the final curve of the lake and straight up the long driveway, kicking up dust into the late autumn air. It had taken some seriously creative and subtle breadcrumbs left behind that only Bobby would recognize, while leaving any others interested in tracking me and my family down, scratching their heads in bemusement. We were cutting it close enough as it was, the first snow would hit this valley within weeks and then there'd be no way in or out, except by plane, until the thaw, sometime in mid-April.

They poured out of the vehicles, Bobby the only one not wearing the mandatory black, and spread out across the lawn. Making it obvious they were armed and more than ready to use 'em. Except Bobby. He stopped about 10 feet away from the bottom of the stairs, just looking up at me, his eyes hidden by the dark glasses he wore. I got to my feet lazily, showing absolutely no concern for the octuplet of Agency hit men behind him.

"Bobby, let's talk," I said, and waited for his reaction.

He removed the glasses, I recognized them as a pair from Darien's extensive collection, and didn't begrudge him the memento for an instant. I'd taken a few of my own. Some pictures, a favorite shirt, his scent still lingering upon the material and, though it seemed so stupid, Ralph's key. I watched as Bobby carefully folded the glasses before slipping them into the interior pocket of the suit jacket he wore. "Yeah, kid, I'm thinking we should."

I took the steps two at a time, which caused a couple of the twitchier Agency suits to go for their weapons.

"Stand down," Bobby ordered, which made the agents glance at one another uneasily.

"I'd do as he says," I stated with a dangerous smile. "You'd be dead before you cleared your holsters." I wasn't kidding; even Rose was a fair shot when aiming for the torso. I didn't want to hurt these guys, but, if push came to shove, I'd kill 'em myself and bury the bodies out back without a single moment of lost sleep.

Bobby didn't say a word, perhaps wondering if they had orders other than the ones he knew about. He had every right to be suspicious given what I learned over the last few weeks, but I think they took my threat seriously since they backed off, taking up positions about the yard that would allow them to keep an eye on the situation without looking overly-threatening.

I strode away, back up the stairs and onto the wide porch that offered an incredible view of the lake. I turned back to see Bobby still standing there and gestured for him to get a move on. He muttered something to himself and then followed me. As soon as we were through the door Claire stepped into view, hands on her hips and tears in her eyes. 

"What took you so bloody long?" she asked before doing her best to hug the stuffing out of him.

It wasn't until she'd taken a step back to look him over that he seemed to realize who she was. "Claire?" The word sounding far more like he was questioning his sanity than acknowledging the presence of the woman standing before him.

"Yes, you silly git," she responded, all smiles. She couldn't seem to stop touching him, hands wandering along his arms, shoulders, and face. "You've lost weight," she observed, which caused a snicker to escape from me.

Bobby turned to look at me, back at Claire, and then finally settled on me. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you, my friend, waiting for you."

***

It took some time, tears and a lot of explanations before Bobby was willing to believe that I hadn't bailed on him, hadn't run away in some attempt to erase all that had happened to me in San Diego. That it had all been part of a plan to make a clean break from the Agency and allow him to do the same, without risking the Official catching wind of the plot. Claire's leaving after Darien had died was inevitable and probably expected, but if Bobby had up and quit so soon after it would have looked suspicious and Charlie was too wily a character to not figure out that we'd end up together. That, instead of tearing us apart, losing Darien would draw us closer in a united front against the Agency and its future plans for invisibility.

If Bobby had any inkling that I was going to destroy the QS-9300 project files he would have been forced to make a choice that, at the time, would have done him irreparable harm. I had done my best to take _everything_ into consideration when I made my plans. I hadn't wanted to hurt him, hadn't wanted to leave him alone when I knew he needed me the most, but it was the only way to assure he'd be free to join us later. And once I explained it all, he agreed. However, he still gave me a lecture on trust and never bailing on one's partner, no matter how tight the situation.

With Mike's help, we altered the memories of the agents who'd arrived with Bobby, so that they left believing that he'd been killed in a fierce gun battle with me and my family. Gave them a few injuries to back up that claim, and the firm belief that trying to take my clan by force would be a serious mistake. Oh, and we also made sure they wouldn't be able to find their way back to Lost Valley, least not without having to start the search over from scratch.

Within days, we had confirmation through various contacts - mine, Mike's and Bobby's - that the Official was backing off, and that the trail had gone cold at their end. We were safe until spring, which was more than enough time to prepare for anything short of an invasion. Bobby wandered about the area, wearing a bemused expression with Pavlov trailing behind, as if the he knew Bobby shouldn't yet be left alone, for about a week. Then one day woke me up with an extensive list of things that needed to be changed around the place, and pronto, to increase security. When I explained I owned the entire valley, he got this gleam in his eye that I knew didn't bode well for anyone wanting to try anything.

Yes, we went into hiding, much as my grandparents had when they built the original house on whose foundation the current rested. They raised six children here, none of whom had been hurt by the isolation from the rest of the world. Insulated, maybe. Protected, definitely. But not one of them had any trouble adapting to the world beyond the peaks surrounding this valley and neither would mine.

Was it easy? Not by any means. I got by day by day and did as he asked of me.

I lived.

~~~~~~

and I will never see the sky the same way

and I will learn to say goodbye to yesterday

and I will never cease to fly if held down

and I will always reach too high

cause I've seen,

cause I've seen,

twilight...

Finis


	4. Heaven Laughs

Author: A. X. Zanier

Series: _Requiem Arc_

Title: Heaven Laughs

Rating: PG-13

Fandom: The Invisible Man

Pairing: Darien/OFC, Bobby/Claire

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or basic story ideas to _The Invisible Man_. Any additional characters or story ideas are mine to do with as I please.

Timeline: N/A

Comments: #4 in the _Requiem Arc_.

Music: _Heaven Laughs_ by The Hooters

Heaven Laughs

_"Perhaps I know best why it is man alone who laughs; he alone suffers so deeply that he had to invent laughter." -- Friedrich Nietzsche (1844 - 1900)_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's weird, I can see when it started, when the first signs began to show up, even though neither of us knew it at the time. As usual with my life, it began so innocently. If anything about my life could be looked upon as _innocent_ these days. It was no great event, no sign from above, no mile high words written in the sky to tell me '_Hey, you bozo, something's wrong_.' No, I simply woke up in my bed, in my dark apartment to find Alyx sitting up next to me, her fingers hovering millimeters from my temple with this _look_ on her face. Not worry, not fear, not anything I'd ever seen before, and it kinda freaked me out.

"You okay?" Can you say irony? Me asking her if she was okay.

"Was gonna ask you the same thing, bub," she responded, still not seemingly able to touch me.

I shifted my head so that her fingers brushed along my cheek, that eerie echo of _something_ still reverberating in the air, but I answered with what I thought was the truth. "I'm fine," I assured her, shifting closer to bury my face against her stomach and making her chuckle warmly. I loved to hear her laugh, loved being able to make her laugh, hell, loved her more than I ever believed possible. Seriously, who'd've thought I, a jaded, cynical, ex-con could drop my guard long enough to let someone in to steal my heart. Yeah, so maybe Hobbes had put a chink or two in my armor, but still... After Casey I'd promised myself I'd never let myself go that far, wouldn't let 'em in and risk having my innards ripped to shreds again.

Such bullshit. Once trapped at the Agency I latched on to anyone willing to put up with me, like a lamprey to a shark, knowing all the while that at any second the shark could decide he - or she, let's not kid ourselves here - was hungry and that I was the sushi du jour. And while there were a few nibbles in the beginning, the damage healed and I found... first compatriots and then friends in the unlikeliest of persons - Claire and Bobby.

It wasn't until Alyx had shown up, thrust upon us unwillingly, that I realized how vulnerable I'd allowed myself to become. The street-wise punk that eschewed every attachment had found himself not only willing, but _wanting_ to take chances with his heart again, only to have most avenues of normal human contact cut off due to the gland and that whole 'top secret' thing. I was ripe for a fall and hit the ground headfirst. Luckily, my head is the hardest portion of my anatomy.

I ignored her giggled protests, and pulled her down until we were finally laying with her curled about me, her fingers wandering lightly through my hair. I felt the sudden need to be held by her and she sighed deeply as she wrapped her arms about me. When I drifted off to sleep it was with the firm belief that everything was all right and our sudden waking no more than a mutual mental hiccup.

***

'_Christ on a crutch,' _I thought slowly, my brain running at about half-speed, '_anyone see the frat party that hit me?_' Oh, you can blame that colorful idiom on the east coast redhead I've been spending more than a few of my off-time hours with. Our collection of pet phrases overlapping and abused regularly by anyone within easy hearing distance. Listening to a Brit say 'wicked kewl' is just one of the stranger events in recent months. 

I cracked my eyes open to the sight of Alyx - the redhead, not the Brit - hovering over me with a look of complete and total shock on her face. I tried to speak, but found myself unable to do more than shift my jaw slightly. For one incredibly long moment, I feared I'd had a stroke or been shot or something. My head ached in new and interesting ways that sent my heart racing.

"Easy there, bub," she said softly, her words oddly muffled, as if my ears had been stuffed with cotton. "Don't try to move just yet."

I wasn't about to argue, though it was more do to the ice pick being plunged into the left side of my head than her request. She gave me the once over, including a glance at the snake tattoo, which only had three red. Hell, I coulda told her it wasn't the gland, the pain was all wrong for it to be the cause of all this trouble. "Waaa.... Whu.... Wha' hap'n?" I struggled to get out, my tongue not cooperating at the moment. I figured I musta gotten jumped by a friend of the bozo we'd been following around most of the day and clocked a good one 'cross the back of my thick skull, however impossible that scenario could be with Alyx right next to me the entire time.

She helped me to sit up, the pain easing as I reached vertical. "I was hoping you could tell me. One sec you were conscious and then you were in nappy-land."

I reviewed what I'd been doing, which had been nothing more than tailing a little weasel of a perp who was supposed to be leading us to the big bad the Official _really_ wanted us to nab. Apparently, the reward money would keep the Agency afloat a few more weeks. Alyx and I had been posing as a couple - yeah, a real stretch there - casually strolling through the park. One moment I'd been bitching to Hobbes that the guy was leading us in circles and the next... my ass was getting real friendly with the damp grass. "C...c...crap," I stuttered. That was when Hobbes decided it would be a good time to yell in my ear. Just my luck that the headset hadn't fallen off.

"_Fawkes, what are you frickin' doing? The mook is gonna get away while you two are getting in some afternoon delight on the clock. Move it_!"

Alyx rolled her eyes. "Bobby, don't get your knickers in a twist. We..." 

I shook my head, not wanting her to tell Hobbes that I'd had a temporary and unexpected bout of unconsciousness. My partner would be sure to tell the Keep, who would then insist on tests, and since I'd just endured my annual a few weeks ago, I wanted no part of playing lab rat again so soon. 

"I had to make a pit stop," she said, amending her response. "I got the guy tagged, he ain't left the park yet."

Hobbes grumbled for a few seconds about women and their infinitesimally small bladders, surprising me with the use of the 100 dollar word, then barked, "_Quit the dilly-dallying then. We still got a job to do_."

"Sir, yes, sir," she mocked even as she helped me to my feet.

For an instant, the ground seemed to stretch away from me with an interesting and stomach-lurching twist to the right and then everything snapped back to normal, the headache nothing but a memory. "Shit," I mumbled, hoping Hobbes wouldn't pick it up. Her arm wrapped firmly about my waist, we got moving in the direction the weasel had last been heading.

"D, you _sure_ you're okay? Maybe you should talk to Claire..." 

"Nah, I'm fine." I insisted, still blindly believing that there _couldn't_ be anything wrong. It would've shown up on all those tests the good Keeper put me through. That was her job, after all, to keep me healthy and sane, right? "Let's go catch ourselves a bad guy before Hobbes decides to string us up like a piñata and thwap us with a stick."

That drew a soft laugh from her and we returned to our lazy strolling.

***

"Just put 'em on the coffee table. I'll be there in a minute."

I looked down at my hands to find a bottle of wine in one and a pair fluted glasses, which I held by the crossed stems, in the other. I lifted my head and didn't recognize the room I stood in, nothing familiar anywhere about me. "Casey?" I called out, wondering if this was her place or mine, not that I could recall either of us moving recently.

"Casey?" A voice that did not belong the blonde doctor that I was currently dating questioned. A tiny redhead suddenly appeared before me, nearly startling me into dropping the glassware I carried. Since when did I go for jailbait? If she were of the age of consent, it would be a miracle, never mind being old enough to drink. "Darien, are you all right?"

"I... You're not Casey," I observed, as if stating the obvious would help in some way. She removed the items that I could no longer feel from my hands before I could allow them to slip to the floor and shatter. I was becoming more and more bewildered by the moment. "Who are you?"

Before answering, she set the bottle and glasses down on a nearby table. "A friend," she assured me as she returned to my side. She reached up and set a hand against my face, fingertips resting on my temple. "Where are you, bub?" she muttered as she looked up at me with eyes that were a gorgeous and completely unexpected shade of, all things, silver. Eyes that I _knew,_ though I could guarantee I'd never seen the woman before in my life.

There was this sudden snap, only inside my head, that sent the world spinning about me for an instant. This caused me to lose my balance and induced a headache of monster proportions. My hand made a beeline for my forehead even as my knees buckled.

"Whoa, easy there." She got a firm grip on my shoulders and helped me down to the floor, the room dipping and spinning in a dizzying manner. "Talk to me, Darien."

I wanted to, but I wasn't sure if I knew how to speak, who I was, who she was, where the hell I was... "Ummm," I managed in what I thought was an intelligent manner.

"I'm calling the Keep." 

"No!" I shouted, knowing the last thing I wanted was for Claire to learn about this. Whatever this was. Claire. Hobbes. Eberts. The Official. Suddenly, I was assailed with a thousand images, coming faster than any overly dramatic movie trailer that I'd seen, and lacking the mandatory crescendo of music. The pain went from sharp and needle-like to dull and distant, like I'd been given a hefty dose of Demerol. "Alyx," I whispered, wondering how I could ever have forgotten, "don't call Claire. I'm fine."

"Darien, you had no idea who I was," Alyx argued. "You called me Casey, for heaven's sake. This is not a sign of things being _fine_."

Okay, so she had a point, it just wasn't one I wanted to hear right now. "Alyx..."

"What happened? Or should I be asking where were you?" She settled down on the floor next to me, the concern in those eyes a damn near physical force.

"I have no frickin' idea," I told her. "It was like I suddenly woke up, standing there in the middle of the room and had no idea how I'd gotten there or anything." I rubbed the back of my neck in consternation. It was as if I had two different memory tracks stuck in my head. One where I remembered the whole day, boring as it had been, right up to Alyx handing me the wine and then... Then it was like the space/time continuum had taken a left turn onto a mobius strip and then stopped to ask for directions. For a couple minutes there, the last few years had vanished, wiped clean, like a blackboard at the end of a school day. "I heard a female voice and just assumed it was you, uhhh... Casey," I explained, prepared to duck if she swung at me. Mistaking your current girlfriend for your ex was usually frowned upon in a relationship.

"I don't like this, D, you've been pulling weird shit for a couple of weeks now. I really think you need to tell Claire."

She didn't plead, didn't demand, just voiced her opinion on the matter, and I have to admit that she almost swayed me, but my stubborn, tired of being a lab rat, streak reared its ugly head. "Don't wanna," I whined. "C'mon, you know what goes on in my head better'n she does. You see anything wrong?"

One eyebrow arched upwards upon her brow. "No," she admitted with obvious reluctance, proving she _had_ been poking about in my head. "But then, I can only _see_ so much."

"You see more than any three other people combined, babe." I grabbed a stray curl of her hair and tugged on it. "I'm just tired. Too much work and not enough play."

She allowed herself to buy this, letting me win this one without any more argument. I knew because the worry never left her eyes. "'All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy'."

"Exactly, and I'm thinkin' it's time for some play."

***

The next couple of weeks just got weirder, even by my standards, which were quite liberal by this point. The headaches became a constant companion; the blackouts and interesting twists of memory would make random appearances. I'd spend hours with my hands shaking uncontrollably and blame it on too much caffeine. Alyx did everything she could to help, never again suggesting that we talk to Claire about it. She knew I'd just bitch and moan until she gave in and did things my way. Least that's what I thought at first. Somewhere along the way, the worry in her eyes changed, and it wasn't to fear or pity or irritation at my continued idiocy on the matter, but this look of _knowing_. Like she knew what was happening to me and that going to Claire wouldn't make a lick'a difference.

Me... I just kept up the lines of bullshit and even managed to convince myself that the lies were true, conning myself into thinking that there was nothing wrong that a few years of vacation couldn't cure. Even pulled the wool over Hobbes' eyes; had him believing every word, even when he gave me _the look_. You know the one, stares me right in the eyes watching for the slightest twitch, the tiniest hint of falsehood. But he never caught me out, 'cause as far as I was concerned I was just fine. He kept one hell of a weather eye on me though, and Alyx knew it and covered, telling lies smoother than a newborn baby's bottom. Damn, when did she get so _good_?

She was doing a pain block on me at least once a day, on top of the aspirin I was swallowing down by the handful, which of course had the nasty side-effect of making anything I ate feel like boiling oil poured into my stomach and causing me to lose weight that I couldn't really afford. Thankfully, she was no longer needing to keep me from passing out every time some schmuck stuck a needle into the voodoo doll of me they were carrying around and taking all their pent up aggression out on. Hell, except for the headaches, I was doing pretty good, just needed to catch up on my sleep, eat a real meal or three and I'd be right as rain.

I was counting on a long weekend after this sneak and snatch, as the boss man seemed to think this file we were after was the Holy Grail itself. That had to be worth an extra day to sleep in, right?

Alyx and I planned to get as close as possible to the building without going invisible. The first law of thermodynamics, the Conservation of energy, might rule the rest of the universe, but mine was all about the first law of the gland, the conservation of Quicksilver. And I had damn well become an expert in that over the last few years.

We reached our go/no-go point - see, I'd even learned some'a the lingo - and Hobbes gave us the go-ahead, saying everything looked clear from where he was sitting, which was, of course, a quarter mile away all snug, secure and outta sight in the van. It was our asses on the front line as usual. But, hey, that's what we got paid the big bucks for. With a nod to Alyx, I went into my routine, nice deep breath, relaxing in just the right way and let the Quicksilver flow. There was this odd tingling sensation in the back of my skull and the feel of it oozing across my skin was different, but it wasn't like it hurt or nothing.

Then it suddenly got way too bright, like someone was aiming a half dozen high powered spotlights right at me. Reminded of some of my early, and less successful, days as a thief, though back then it had been police flashlights tagging me. I swore softly and closed my eyes at the sharp pain lancing into my head.

It was Alyx's gasped "What the hell?" that made me realize something was seriously wrong.

I tried to open my eyes, but found myself just as blind as before. "Alyx..."

"Shhh," she hissed at me. *_Drop the Quicksilver_,* she told me, fear lacing her thoughts.

*_I can't see_,* I explained, realizing I was also getting quite warm, which shouldn't have been possible while invisible. The stuff was a thermal insulator, not a thermal generator for cripes sake.

*_D, drop the Quicksilver_,* she repeated, her voice firm. I didn't argue and did as she asked me. There were two immediate reactions: first, I was lots cooler, the late summer breeze a blessed relief and second, I felt sick as a dog and doubled over panting and trying not to toss my proverbial cookies all over the ground.

"What the hell is happening to me?" I grumbled at an undertone.

I thought I heard her say, "I wish I knew," but the blood pounding in my ears drowned out her words as the world became more than a little fuzzy, graying out with lovely flashes and sparks in my peripheral vision as I did my best to faint. I dunno how, but I stayed conscious, even if the next few minutes were more'n a bit blurry in the instant replay department, Alyx's cool hands resting on the back of my neck giving me a connection to the here and now.

"D, try to Quicksilver your hand. _Just_ your hand."

I didn't quite feel up to talking, still hunched over and swallowing hard to keep the contents of my stomach where they belonged. The instant I triggered the gland I _knew_ something was wrong, that irritating tingle was back and my guts tried to tie themselves into square knots. My arm turned silver from the elbow down just like always, but instead of fading into the background like it was supposed to it turned dark, almost black and it got damn warm on the inside of the Quicksilver glove I was wearing. 

"That's not right," I stated in confusion, looking at my arm as if it belonged to someone else.

"No shit, Sherlock," Alyx snarked, taking me aback with her harsh reaction, but then I looked at her and saw the fear in her eyes. 

I shed the Quicksilver and slowly straightened, my insides still all twisted up and screaming their unhappiness with the situation. "Do me."

"What?" She was staring at me in shock. "You gotta be kidding me, Dare, you just..."

"Have a job to finish. Right?" I don't know how I did it, or why, but part me knew I just had to do this. Maybe it was some of who she was rubbing of on me. You don't leave a job half done no matter how uncomfortable, or dangerous or asinine it was. And I think, maybe, I still wasn't ready to admit anything was wrong. Convinced that, maybe, the funky Quicksilver was a fluke that would never happen again. "Right?"

She closed her eyes for a moment, swallowing hard. "Right," she agreed as she reached out to set a hand on my arm, her Quicksilver flowing to cover us both.

As we headed for the target, I quoted, *"_Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more..."_* and received a gentle elbow in my side as admonishment and leaving me wondering what she knew that I didn't.

***

Tests. I frickin' _hate_ tests, but even I couldn't argue their necessity any longer. I've been pricked and poked and prodded and scanned and a dozen other things I can't put a name to so many times in the last few years that, now and then, the thought of just one more blood draw is enough to send me off the deep end without the need of the special edition gland in my head. I never thought there'd be a day I'd willingly submit to a detailed battery of tests such as those I'd just gone through. While not quite as thorough as the annual exam I'd had - was it only two months ago? - it was a damn close facsimile.

Least they were over with, which only left the really difficult part - the waiting.

Me and Alyx managed to complete the mission, but by the end I was shaking with fear. Somewhere along the way, the reality had sunk in and no amount of bluffing or blustering would change the truth of the situation. Something was way wrong with me, the gland, both... I didn't know, but it was time to find out. It wasn't 'til we got back to the Keep, Claire looking bewildered at our appearance and Hobbes looking mightily cheesed off at my continued silence that I spilled my guts and told 'em everything that had been going on. Alyx filled in some tidbits here and there, 'specially spots where I had a complete blank on the mental video tape, but for the most part she just sat there in silence, that _look_ back in her eyes. I don't know what freaked me more, the look or Hobbes and Claire's shock and horror when they realized I was telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

It was Claire who suggested we needed to eat and since we'd been here all night long, no one disagreed even though I'm betting no one was really all that hungry. Hobbes, Boy Scout that he is, volunteered to go, saying there had to be someplace other Starbucks open at this hour. Knowing Hobbes, he'd be back with bagels and lox from the nearest deli, convinced that some quality Jewish cooking could cure all my ills, or at least not make 'em any worse. He was definitely a firm believer in 'comfort food' as a placebo.

So when the news came down, Hobbes wasn't there, and I think that might've been a good thing considering what happened. Claire had gone off to see if the results for any of the tests were in and when she returned it was in perfect cool and controlled doctor mode. Docs should think about changing that style, it just shouts "bad news" to the victim... uh, patient.

I took one look at her and felt my heart drop to my feet. "Oh crap," I whispered hoarsely, somehow knowing that _bad_ would probably be a step up. She went straight into the blame game.

"Darien," her voice cracking on my name, "I don't know how I could have missed this."

I went numb. I mean, part of me was expecting the worst, but actually hearing it is one'a those things you ain't ever prepared for. "Missed what, Keep?" I managed to get out past a mouth gone bone dry.

Instead of answering, she turned away, making a bee-line for the light box on the wall. She shoved two x-ray films up. "It'll be easier if I show you." She flipped the switch, backlighting the images. She was right; those pictures were all I needed to see to know I was a dead man walking.

The one on the left was, I assumed, from the recent annual exam and looked just like every other x-ray of my skull since the gland had been implanted. A golf-ball sized mass of tissue that most docs would mistake as a tumor buried in my brain, but the one on the right... it looked like some weird multi-legged sea-creature had taken up residence in my skull. The mass was less than half its original size and there were arms reaching out every which way, almost at random. There was no direction that the tendrils didn't stretch out in, including down, wending its lazy way into my spinal column from the looks of things. I had to wonder why I was still alive.

Good thing I was sitting down, 'cause there was no way in hell my legs woulda supported me just then. What's that phrase? Knock me over with a feather? Well, you coulda knocked me over with far less. Alyx noticed first and rushed from where she'd been staring at the x-rays to my side.

"Breathe, D, passing out won't do you any good right now."

I couldn't help myself and burst out in hysterical laughter. "Not like it'll hurt any either," I pointed out around the guffaws.

Claire tired to soothe me, which was so the wrong tack to take. "Darien, I understand this is a bit of a shock..."

"'A bit of a shock'," I mimicked, accent and all, cutting off her attempt to placate me. "Damn straight it's a shock. Everything was _fine_. You _said_ so, Keeper. 'Healthy as a horse,' I believe were your exact words," I snarled, anger getting the better of me and I stalked over to her. "And now I'm not even good enough for the glue factory."

I backed Claire up against the coolers, tears pooling in her eyes, but at that moment I didn't care, wanted to inflict as much pain as possible on anyone near me, but Alyx stopped me before I could do anything excessively stupid.

"Darien, it's _not_ her fault."

I whipped around to glare at Alyx, who was picking up the file Claire had dropped when I went after her. "A'course not. It's not anyone's fault, right? Just one'a those things that happen, right?" I stormed over to her. "Wanna tell me why these things keep happening to my sorry ass?"

"Luck?" she retorted, without a trace of humor in her voice as she stood to meet me glare for glare. "Fate? Destiny? Karma? And I hate to point out the obvious, but it ain't only your ass dealing with this shit. You forgotten my life the last year or so, bub?" A single finger poked me dead center in the chest and all the anger suddenly drained out of me, like a balloon with a leak. The room swung about me and if it weren't for her, I'm pretty sure I'd've gotten to experience, first hand, the joy of smashing my face into the concrete floor of the Keep. "Crap," she muttered, dropping the file in favor of supporting me.

Claire was there a second later and the two of them maneuvered me back to the exam chair, which was, suddenly and blessedly, horizontal.

"Darien, I can give you something... to help you relax if... if you like." Claire's offer, while appreciated, wasn't wanted. I only had so much time left and didn't really want to spend it numb thanks to quality pharmaceuticals. She was only trying to help. I knew that much.

I curled up on my side, unable to respond. Alyx did for me. "No, Claire. Not right now, anyway. Just give him a few to process the news." She had gone back to picking up the file, her voice strained. 

"Darien?" Claire questioned, wanting to hear the answer from me, I guess.

"What she said. I... how long, Keep?" I didn't want to hear the answer, but I had to ask, y'know? I didn't want any more surprises.

She sighed heavily. "Darien, that's not important right now."

"Not important?" I hissed, the anger flaring back to life momentarily. "I'd say it's the most important thing in the world about now."

She closed her eyes for a long moment then straightened her shoulders and looked me in the eye. "Four, five days. Unless..." She turned to Alyx. "You've been helping him all this time, I'm betting. Can you...?" She left the sentence hanging.

"I can't cure him, if that's what you're asking. At best I can give him a few more days," she explained, looking as dour as I felt.

"You knew what was wrong with me?"

She shook her head and moved to my side, handing the file to Claire. "No, I swear it." Her hand came to rest on my cheek; her eyes getting that far away look in 'em that told me she was doing something, probably in my head. "Even now the gland registers as fine, healthy to my senses. _You_ feel ill, but the gland doesn't." She swung back into focus and looked over to Claire. "It makes no sense."

Claire disagreed. "Actually, it does. The gland has undergone what appears to be a natural mutation. It was never sick or injured so there was nothing for you to pick up as wrong. Yes, there were symptoms, but since they weren't typical of what the gland does..." She trailed off, knowing she didn't need to spell it out for us.

"But you _knew_," I insisted, reaching out to grasp Alyx's hand. "I saw it in your eyes. You knew... something."

She sat down on the edge of the chair, hand shifting from my cheek to my hair, playing with it. "I... I can't explain it. But you're right, I _knew_."

I closed my eyes, hoping to fall asleep so that I could wake up and have this all be a bad dream. But it was more real than anything else I had ever dealt with in my life. Even being sentenced to life in prison without parole hadn't struck such a harsh blow. The echo of heartache from the woman sitting beside me was more than enough to make me aware that there'd be no waking up from this.

***

It was full dark out when we arrived at Alyx's place. My choice. I didn't want to spend my last days in my tiny studio apartment like some desperate soul just one step above living on the streets. I wanted light and comfort and familiarity and, though I knew it was selfish of me, I wanted her. By my side, and not just because she could keep the pain away, but because if I was gonna die I wanted to spend my last days with people I cared about and who, I hoped anyway, cared about me.

I'd spent most of today mourning my wasted life, but right now, right this moment I wanted to remember what it was like to live. I walked over towards Alyx who had tossed her keys on the dining table and was now leaning heavily on it. Both palms in contact with the surface, her shoulders slumped and head tipped down.

I sidled up behind her, pressing my body against hers and lowered my head to bury my face in her hair. The bitter tang of the sea still lingered upon her, but instead of putting me off, it only aroused me further. With a low rumble, I pulled her upright and shifted so that I could kiss the side of her neck, drawing a low moan from her. She would have been justified in shoving me away, in telling me to go to hell, in asking to be left alone with her own personal pain, but instead, it was one of those many moments we were in perfect sync with each other.

She spun about, her arms reaching up to coil about my neck and her lips finding mine, her need nearly as desperate as my own. Within minutes, our clothes were scattered about the floor. We didn't even make it to her bed, the sofa being far closer.

It was hours before we found ourselves out of energy, if still interested and willing. Neither of us were ready for the sleep we both should have needed given we'd been awake a solid 24 hours by that point. I didn't want to lose any more seconds than absolutely necessary to Morpheus. I'd be closing my eyes a final time soon enough.

We were sprawled on her oversized sofa, my hands wandering lazily across her body as she hummed some nameless tune under her breath, neither of us feeling the need to move. Least not our bodies, my mind, however, had gone haring off into areas I'd never really bothered to examine until now. And, while I had never questioned her commitment to me before, I now found myself wanting to know why, if she could share how she felt about me through that mental connection we had, she couldn't say the words aloud. Three little words that, in truth, neither of us had ever spoken to the other.

"Baby, you in there?"

"Yep," she responded, the pleasant vibration her humming had created coming to an end.

"Do you love me?" Why beat around the bush and drag it out? I'd rather know the truth right now, than to spend my last days wondering.

"Okay, lying here naked after one hell of a sexual romp and you're asking me if I love you? Hello? Were you, perhaps, mistaking me for Casey again, which, while I will forgive you due to your mental burps, it won't stop me from severely damaging you." Her voice maintained the same sardonic tone throughout, so I knew the threat was empty, but the fact that she tried to slip around the question only made me want to know the answer all the more.

"Alyx, I'm being serious here. We've been together for a while now and you've filled all those journals for me, but you've never said or written 'I love you' even once and I guess I'm wondering if you do. Love me, that is," I added when I realized my sentence structure sucked. Crap, I was screwing this whole thing up. I just knew it.

"Like you've ever used _the words_?" she sniped right back at me, rolling over to look me in the eyes. "You know I how feel about you, hell, I practically live inside your head when we're together. Do the words really matter that much?"

You know, yesterday, before I knew what was coming, the words _didn't_ matter, and I had no doubt about where I stood with her, but now... Now I wanted to hear the words, wanted her to say the one thing she seemed to be incapable of admitting to even herself. Yeah, I'd never said 'I love you' to her, but it was more because I was afraid. Afraid she wouldn't respond in kind, afraid that, while she cared, she didn't _love_, afraid that by admitting exactly how I felt that I'd just find myself knocked down again and have yet another woman walk out of my life.

I gotta admit I was sorely tempted to whine pitifully, to make a plea claiming a dead man's last request, knowing that she would respond, would tell me exactly what I wanted to hear. But, and to me it was huge but, I needed her to mean the words, to say them freely and without feeling like she'd been backed into a corner. I'd rather have her tell me she didn't care about me _that way_ than to lie just to placate a dying man's whims. So all I said was, "Yeah, it matters."

She shivered lightly, her eyes drifting shut for a long moment, before she screwed up the courage to reply. "Darien," she began, eyes opening to meet mine. What she said next made me think for an instant that I'd taken another one of those trips down memory lane. "You've been half my heart, half my soul, half my life since we first met. How could I _not _love you?"

I released the breath I hadn't realized I was holding and pulled her closer. "I love you too," I whispered, well and truly choked up, but she, wiseacre that she could be, had to go and change the tone of the whole moment, maybe fearing the tears I could feel waiting just below the surface.

"Well, duh. I _knew_ that," she said with a chuckle.

Even with everything else that was going on, she could still make me do the one thing I thought impossible, she made me laugh.

***

Okay, explain the logic to me. Here I am dying, no hope of a reprieve, no chance of a last moment pardon by the powers that be and, instead of wallowing in a justified pool of self-pity, I'm doing everything I can to hold my friends together, comfort _them_, keep _them_ from doing something drastic and the epitome of stupid once I'd gone gently into that good night. Shouldn't they be the ones holding _my_ hands and soothing _my_ worries? It's funny, it took me looking death in the face and knowing he was gonna win, for me to grow up, to see things about me with a clarity that I'd never before comprehended.

I could see the pain in their eyes, the loss, the brave face they put on for me so that I could pretend for another few hours that this wasn't happening. I once told a crazy old man, 'If the stoplight turns red before you can cross, your life changes forever. I'll buy that it changes, but just 'til the next morning. Then it's a whole new deal.' The hell of it was, pretty soon I wouldn't be getting that next morning.

Alyx, damn that woman was strong. I hadn't lied to her. I really couldn't face this if I knew she wouldn't keep living. I just couldn't imagine this world without her in it. She was so wrong, thinking that she didn't matter, that her life or the loss of it would affect nothing. Without her, there would be a hole in the world of monstrous proportions. She had so much more than _me_ to live for, she was, I think, just too afraid to see it.

Bobby, on the other hand, was holding himself together by a thin and fraying thread and I knew I had to do something to reweave the strands before they snapped completely. Even the comfort Claire quite obviously displayed, no longer caring who saw how she felt for my partner, wouldn't be enough if Bobby let his ghosts get to him. I had to act, had to convince Hobbes that my death didn't change a thing. We would always be friends and he had to keep going, for my sake as much as his own. 

I knew there was a fair chance Hobbes might kill himself, or worse, take that swan dive in his head alone, his inner demons winning the battle for control and leaving him less sane than me in Stage Four madness. I knew my partner, he was already feeling that he'd failed me somehow and I couldn't allow him to think that. Had to give him some sort of purpose besides keeping my larcenous tendencies under control. Show him I'm not the only one who was his friend, who depends on him, on his counsel, or his unique and refreshing outlook on life.

I asked Claire and Alyx to take a walk, though I knew she wouldn't go very far. With the link between us as strong as it was, she _couldn't_ go far, and without her nearby, I would swiftly succumb to damage being done and, not die, not yet, but be far more incapacitated than I appeared. The ultimate in life saving measures, me, quite literally, greedily sucking down the very force that kept her alive, and now that I knew what a risk she was taking to do this for me, I loved her all the more.

"All right, Fawkes, you wanted me alone to tell me somethin', what is it?" Hobbes never missed a trick, did he?

"Just wanted to talk, might be our last chance, after all," I joked.

Hobbes frowned. "You think this is funny?"

"Not for a second, but I'd much rather go out to the sound of laughter than tears," I told him honestly and it seemed to throw him. "Need you to do something for me."

"This a last request or somethin'? 'Cause if it is, I don't want any part of it," he stated, his voice icy cold, obviously still not wanting to face the reality of the situation.

"Bobby..." I shook my head slowly, wondering if there might be an easier way to do this without having an inkling what that may be, so I fell back onto what had always served me best over the years - other's words. "'All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing'," I said, looking him in the eye. "You gonna let that happen, huh? Just because you lost your partner?"

"Fawkes, it ain't that simple," he argued, but even he didn't seem quite convinced.

"C'mon, Hobbes. Who else is there to deal with bastards like Arnaud or Stark? You gonna let Chrysalis take over just because _one_ man couldn't fight any longer?" Unfair and playing on his loyalty to god and country, but I could see in his eyes that it was working.

He turned away for a couple minutes, one hand rubbing the top of his head as he considered my words. When he finally spoke, it was with a tone of resignation. "What if I don't wanna, Fawkes? What if I've had enough, huh? Ever think about that?"

Of course I had, pretty much every day since I ended up working for the Agency. So, it was blackmail at first, but, after a while, it became part of who I was, who I wanted to be and it was in no small part due to Bobby Hobbes. "Bobby, you know as well as I do the Agency is it. No one else out there gets it. If you leave..." I paused, trying to come up with words that would play on his inherent chivalry. That was one of the things Alyx had noticed about my - our - partner, he was old school all the way. "Someone has to take a stand, to be the last bastion of light against the darkness." Oh man, that was just so... so over the top even for me. "I trust you to do that."

"You little shit," he grumbled, his steely gaze pinning me in place and looking for the con in my words, but, for once, there wasn't one. I meant every word and he could see that. He shook his head, chuckling more'n a bit ruefully. "The boss man is prob'ly gonna regret it, but I'll stay... For a while," he amended hastily. "Can't keep doing this forever, y'know."

"Sure you can, Hobbes. You're the best, remember?" I reminded him, relieved I'd won this round so easily.

"And don't you forget it, my friend," he came right back with.

"For as long as I live."

'Nuff said.

And heaven laughs when we say good-bye

It ain't so far to the other side

Someday soon we will meet again

Say it over and over and over 'til then

_Finis_


End file.
